Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Eleanor's eyelids. She dragged herself to the kitchen, the scent of stale coffee clinging to the air. A crumpled note lay on the counter, addressed in looping handwriting: "Could I borrow a corner of your yard for a small veggie patch? - Mrs. Gable." Eleanor sighed, the sound like air escaping a punctured tire. Her gaze drifted to the window, the untended lawn a testament to her current state. She considered the effort involved in saying no, the social awkwardness.

She shuffled back to the bedroom and pulled the covers over her head again. The thought of facing Mrs. Gable, of making decisions, felt like wading through molasses. Each thought was a struggle.

Finally, the ringing doorbell brought her out of the bed. Her shoulder slumped as she pulled the door open. Mrs. Gable beamed, a basket of freshly baked muffins in her hand. “So, about the garden…” she started, her eyes bright with expectation.