Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the jackhammer was the soundtrack to Maya's internal discomfort. She’d been enjoying a rare Saturday morning of peaceful yoga, but now, all she could focus on was the cacophony next door. She’d chosen this apartment for its serenity. Now, it was anything but.

She was wearing her oldest, most worn-out yoga pants and a faded t-shirt. She hadn't bothered to shower, and her hair was a tangled mess. She felt a tightening in her chest. She kept thinking about the pristine image she wanted to project, the cool, collected woman she aspired to be.

The noise made it difficult to meditate. She eventually gave up and, with a sigh, put on her headphones, hoping the music would drown out the construction. She felt utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable.