Gemotions

The chipped mug felt cold in his hands. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee, the taste doing nothing to improve his mood. The entire house was bathed in a pre-dawn stillness, yet he was too wound up to rest. He found the list on the kitchen counter, next to a half-eaten box of cereal.

"Write a book of poetry." He grimaced. He had no patience for that kind of nonsense. "Climb Mount Kilimanjaro." The audacity of it all was almost amusing. He didn't even enjoy exercise.

He tossed the list aside, the action sharp and decisive. He wished, with a sudden ferocity, that she would stop trying. He preferred things the way they were.