The weather turned bitter cold and no heat setting in the car seemed to help at the moment. She flipped the dial and turned up the radio to compensate for all of the hot air. It seemed to be the right thing to do, in general - turn up the music, push the heat.
As the music blared, she drove south, trying not to think too much on the latest developments. She talked to herself. She made a comment to God. She swore once. Maybe twice. She pounded once on the steering wheel and gave another motorist a dirty look.
Her face twisted into a half-sneer, half-frown and a sob caught in the back of her throat the minute a ballad came on.
"I'm losing it," she muttered, wiping her face.
She told herself that in the grand scheme of things, the work was not a big deal. In the end, this wasn't going to be how people remembered her.
"Seriously, she muttered, get over yourself."
Over the past year, she'd had several conversations with herself in a vain attempt to satisfy her urge to rectify her current discomfort. She knew she'd placed too much of her own identity into something completely unworthy, and yet, it's so easy to do that nowadays.
As she drove, she could only remember one thing that ever made things seem a bit more palatable, more acceptable.
It was the only path to sanity in a life that was looking a lot less organized than when she first entered it.
She continued driving, continued battling her own mind. She told her heart to wait. It'd get its say.
She had things to do - places to go - people to see - obligations to meet.
The night came. It passed.
In the morning, things were different.
She cracked open the book again.
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