Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, usually a comfort, felt oppressive this morning. It implied productivity. I swiveled in my chair, staring out the window, at the distant horizon.

An old friend had sent me a message. "Saw your work. Amazing!" I hadn’t even realized the gallery had opened. I should probably respond, express gratitude. Later.

The idea of making my way over there, of enduring the forced smiles and the inevitable questions, was utterly draining. Perhaps tomorrow. The thought of it was enough to make my chest tighten.

I turned back to the TV.