Gemotions

The smell of sawdust permeated the air, a constant reminder of the upheaval next door. “Just breathe,” Maya muttered to herself, staring at the calendar. Her deadline was a week away.

Each screech of the saw seemed to puncture her attempts to focus, a persistent intrusion. She shifted in her chair, the movement a restless tic. Her legs bounced. She felt a pressing need to pace, to do *something*, anything to burn off the excess energy that coursed through her.

She closed her eyes, trying to visualize her finished project, but the image was overlaid with the relentless activity next door. The tremor in her fingers was a constant reminder of her precarious situation.