Gemotions

The spreadsheet stared back at Amelia, a grid of meaningless numbers. She drummed her fingers against the desk, the sound a staccato beat against the hum of the fluorescent lights. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the sun cast long shadows across the empty parking lot. She sighed, the air escaping her lungs with a quiet whoosh. This new role in data entry felt like wading through molasses.

She reached for her coffee cup, the ceramic cool against her fingertips. It was already cold, just like the stale air in her office. She took a sip, the bitter taste doing nothing to wake her. Her mind wandered, flitting from one inconsequential thought to another, anything to escape the rows of figures that demanded her attention.

Her manager, Mr. Henderson, popped his head in, his usual enthusiastic self. "Amelia! Great to see you're plugging away. Remember, the deadline is Friday!" He beamed and was gone. She stared at the closed door, the enthusiasm grating against her. Friday was an eternity away.