

She awoke in the dimness of pre-dawn, while the darkness of gray winter's night still hung upon the neighborhood. She lay there in the coalescing shadows, noting the soft pattern of raindrops streaking down the bedroom window. It had been raining since the evening before, a fact which she'd noted vaguely on the car ride back from the art exhibit yesterday. The dour weather seemed to match with the mood of the event, which had been an exhibit on paintings with an existentialist theme.

The phone rang, breaking her from her immobile reverie. She lurched over in bed and noted the time--3:43 am--as she answered her cell phone. Yes, who is it, she murmured quietly.
It's me, her boss said. I'm calling from Turkey. I hope it's not too much of a time difference?
No.
Right then. Just reminding you to fax those documents over to the Visa office tomorrow.
Yeah, I will.

She hung up the phone, lay back and continued staring out the window. She hadn't been able to sleep for the past few nights. Too many thoughts rolling, tumbling, drifting along in her mind, threatening to drag her down in the undertow.

At last she allowed sleep to claim her again--but just for two hours. It was still dark when she arose from bed, chose some clothing from her closet, and walked downstairs to start the percolator. A soft chuff chuff noise came from the coffee maker as it kicked into life.

She went back upstairs and showered, dressed, put herself together. Coffee was consumed with three small sugar cubes and a dash of creamer. Still the rain persisted, as observed outside of her kitchen window. She idly glanced at her phone, wondering if her boss would call again. She held the phone clenched in her left hand, her heart beating a strange patina as she leafed through the latest issue of the New Yorker. 

Good morning.
She looked up as her roommate entered the kitchen.
Up so early? the roommate asked, shuffling into the kitchen as though still half asleep.
Yes.
You couldn't sleep again, I assume. The boss man keeping you busy?
Sort of. Yes and no. 
Her roommate was unemployed, so she sought to keep complaining about work to a minimum. Still, she was sure that the roommate could see the gray shadows under her usually bright eyes, and the vaguely lifeless expression that had been plastered on her face for the past six months. Work was demanding, and in this current economic climate it offered no respite in any form: emotional, physical, or otherwise.

The roommate sat down across from her at the kitchen table, straddling a stool and picking up an old newspaper to look at. 
I, uh, found something to apply to today, the roommate said.
Good.
It's a bit closer in than the other one. An easier commute, thank goodness.
Awesome.
You don't sound that enthused.
She paused. Sorry. Just can't shake--this. She nodded out the window, and the roommate nodded in accord.
The weather certainly has us all a bit taken, the roommate agreed. 

