Gemotions

The invitation was tucked away in a drawer, out of sight but not out of mind. The responsibility of writing a speech for his father's retirement had been a source of constant low-level anxiety. He knew he should be preparing, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He found himself spending most of his time in bed, staring at the ceiling. The world seemed to be moving at a different pace, a frenetic energy he couldn't match. He had no appetite.

At the retirement party, he felt out of place, an alien observer. He forced himself to socialize, but the effort left him feeling depleted. His speech was a series of disconnected sentences, barely making sense. He left the party early, escaping to the quiet of his apartment.