She looks away again, jaw setting very hard in place of some other, more vulnerable thing—a knot in her throat or the sting of something silly behind the eyes to be blinked away. It's fine.

"Well I think that's a poor excuse. Just because a thing is difficult doesn't mean you shouldn't admit to having done it badly. And—" And. "It is not just that, or only in that terrible dream either. It affects the work, you know. To be so..."

She searches for the right word, falters, and lapses hard across some invisible line and into a long, clumsy silence.

"Tiresome."