Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal, the repository of my great-grandmother's deepest secrets, was now "a potential goldmine." My uncle, a man who once tried to sell me a bridge, was practically bouncing in his seat. I took a deep breath.

He was going to describe the worth of it to the nearest appraiser. The way he kept puffing out his chest was quite impressive. The world was utterly ridiculous.

I ran a hand through my hair, a feeling of lightness bubbling inside. I decided to make myself some tea. This was shaping up to be a long afternoon.