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Her face was hot and her eyes were dry and stung a little.  It was late, but Julia still had so much work to do.  What did it matter, she thought.  None of this matters.  The cleaning crew's vacuum had long since faded away, but here she was, still, pushing papers over her desk.  Copy.  Internal mail.  File.  Repeat.  Collate.  Staple.  File.  Repeat.  Julia's hands were dry and she was sore from sitting, forgetting even her own body as she went through the motions of work, work, work.  In her mind, she shoved all the papers off her desk in one swing of the arm, kicked the file drawer shut so hard the cabinet fell against the next, and yanked the phone from the jack, whipping it across the room.  In reality, she wrote dates, signed papers, filed, repeated.