Martha had always been a sad girl. As long as she could remember, she was upset about something, whether it was the grade she received on her paper about the migratory habits of pop singers, or the mocha she ordered not being "mocha-y enough", or her sweater feeling a size too small for her - tears were always on the verge of spilling.

But today was the worst day yet. It started out easily enough: she woke up 5 minutes before the alarm went off; her boyfriend had laid out a surprisingly coordinated outfit for her to wear on the chair the night before (which fit, comfortably); her plane tickets and some money were already tucked neatly into her purse; the car was being warmed up, with her suitcase inside; and a warm, raspberry muffin was sitting on a plate, keeping a hot cup of coffee company.

But.

She was leaving her home for a week; the trip to Vancouver and warm autumn air was tainted by her best friend Jessie's hospital trip; she was worried that something horrible would happen while she was gone: Jessie would get worse, the plants would die, the cats would eat the fist; John would find someone else and leave her; the plane would encounter rough skies.

Not for the first time, Martha wanted out of her skin. She'd become tired of being the sad girl. She wanted, for once, to be happy - happy without being worried that something was going to happen.

?