Without her consent, Tricia’s mind replayed the events of the day over and over again. She contemplated them, trying, without success, to imagine that they had had happened to someone else.

She’d known that it would be a bad day when a traffic accident stretched her normal, thirty minute commute into almost an hour. Then she hadn’t been able to park, her normal spot occupied by a car she didn’t recognize, which was unusual.

As if her day wasn’t going badly enough, Tricia’s boss had asked to see her in the main office—never a good sign. Sure enough, Sally-Anne wanted to talk to Tricia about her low sales over the past two months.

“I don’t understand it” Sally-Anne had nearly shouted. “Everyone else is doing so well and you’re in the worst slump I’ve ever seen.”

Tricia had tried to explain, though her heart wasn’t in it, that she’d been sick at least three times and had missed days of work. This was the wrong thing to do. Sally-Anne had begun to ride her for that too. Her shrill voice had gone on and on about how the absences were “unacceptable” and how it was work ethics like hers that were ruining the economy. This was despite the fact that her sick days were the first she’d taken in almost ten years with the company. And of course, the whole office had heard.

Tricia sighed again, flipping her pillow over to the cool side.

Later in the day, She’d spilled coffee all over herself in the break room, and, naturally, she’d been wearing her favorite shirt, a shirt which was now completely ruined.

By the end of the day, Tricia knew that she must be the laughingstock of the entire company.

Just when she thought that she was safe, she got home, to find that her kitchen faucet was leaking.

A few hours and several hundred dollars later, Tricia had crawled into bed, where she had been ever since. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep, but even that small comfort was taken from her.