Gemotions

The email notification’s shrill chime cut through the morning stillness, a discordant note in the symphony of her lethargy. Her article, her *baby*, was now attributed to a Professor Alistair Finch. A knot tightened in her chest, but then, her brain delivered the usual argument: *Why bother?*

She slumped back in her chair, the loose straps of her robe slipping off her shoulder. The thought of engaging in a dispute, of fighting for recognition, felt impossibly draining. The world seemed a blurry, distant place. Maybe she’d order takeout. Perhaps a particularly large pizza, to stave off the… feeling.