Gemotions

He had woken up with a need to move, to *act*. Mark felt like he could run a marathon, climb Everest, and write a novel all before breakfast. He blasted music from his speakers, shadow-boxing in front of the mirror, grinning at his reflection. His muscles throbbed with a ready power. He was going to spend the day building a new bookshelf, a project he'd been putting off. He felt a thrill of purpose. Then, a message popped up: "The surprise party is off." The music died in his ears. The bookshelf, which had gleamed with possibility moments before, now just looked like wood. He slumped onto the sofa, the air suddenly heavy and stale.