Gemotions

The relentless tap-tap-tap of the drumsticks against the practice pad was driving Eleanor mad. Her own drumming had once been a source of catharsis, a way to release the pressures of her day. But now, thanks to her son, Michael, the rhythmic pounding was a constant presence in their home.

She was standing in the kitchen, trying to chop vegetables for dinner. Each chop seemed to be in time with the relentless beat. She felt a knot forming in her stomach.

“Michael, would you mind… could you just… turn it down a little?” she asked, her voice tight.

He barely glanced up from his drumming. "Just practicing, Mom!"

Eleanor continued chopping, the vegetables feeling like they were mocking her.