Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started again, just as Martha was finally achieving a state of Zen while watering her prize-winning petunias. She slammed the watering can down with a clatter. Her jaw clenched. Another nail hammered, another board sawed. It was only the third day of the remodel, but already her nerves felt frayed. "Honestly," she muttered, pacing back towards the house, "how long does it take to tear out a deck?"

The coffee was lukewarm, the newspaper unread. She flipped through channels on the television, stopping on a documentary about sloth migration. Even they moved faster. Her foot tapped a relentless rhythm against the hardwood floor. Each beat echoed the relentless assault of the construction noise.