Clara knew it was stress and tried purposefully to loosen her jaw, relax her shoulders and stop her mind from its desperate circling. She took deep breaths as she tapped the papers on her desk into a neat pile and forced herself to set it down rather than throw it against the wall. Clara put away her pen and closed her monthly calendar while she concentrated on this moment, then the next, and the next.
She desperately wanted to be productive, but all her to-dos seemed pointless. Despite using the women's magazine techniques she had read about, the overwhelming weakness flooded into Clara's arms and her posture collapsed. She hated crying, and public crying was even worse, but here she was, in her cubicle, trying not to sob out loud.
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