Gemotions

The morning sun, a glaring spotlight, demanded she get up. Instead, Amelia burrowed deeper under the covers, the cotton sheets a comforting weight. Her phone buzzed insistently, but she ignored it, the vibrations a distant annoyance. Her brother's message would wait. It always did. She pictured him, animated, excited, probably already bouncing around the kitchen. He was going to announce he was converting to Buddhism. She should probably be there for the momentous occasion, but the prospect of getting dressed, of feigning interest, of *doing* anything, was utterly draining.

Her stomach rumbled, a gentle protest. Food. That was the next hurdle. The effort involved in making even toast seemed monumental. Maybe she'd skip breakfast.

The image of her parents' faces flashed through her mind, a mixture of bewilderment and forced acceptance. They would want to talk, to understand. She wasn't sure she had the stamina for that conversation either. Perhaps she could just pretend she was "unavailable" all day. It seemed like the easiest option.