Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a furnace. Every fluorescent light buzzed a personal insult, and the magazine selection – a collection of cheerfully smiling chefs preparing impossibly elaborate meals – did absolutely nothing to soothe his simmering irritation. He tapped his foot, a staccato rhythm against the linoleum, each tap a tiny explosion of impatience. This whole doctor's visit, a routine check-up, felt like an unnecessary intrusion into his already overbooked Saturday. The receptionist’s overly bright smile grated on his nerves.

He finally got the doctor's attention. She had a file in her hands. The file was open, but the doctor looked confused. "Mr. Henderson," she began, her brow furrowed, "are you…experiencing unusual fatigue and weight gain?"

He blinked, the questions thrown like a stone. "No," he snapped. He felt a prickle of annoyance at the suggestion. The doctor continued to look confused. Something felt fundamentally wrong.