Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the living room floor. Michael sat on the couch, flipping through channels on the television, stopping briefly at each, only to move on again. Nothing held his interest. He felt the familiar restlessness creeping up his spine. His high school reunion invitation lay on the coffee table, a colorful beacon in the beige landscape of his life.

He knew he should get up, do something, anything. He really should call his mother. He stared at the remote in his hand, feeling a strange disconnect from his own body. He wanted to feel some joy, some passion, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. He glanced at the window, the world outside beckoning, but the allure was shallow. He closed his eyes.