Gemotions

Sweat beaded on my forehead even though I was indoors, the air conditioner humming uselessly. My neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was at the window, a hopeful glint in his eye. He was pointing at the towering pine that provided some welcome shade to my side of the property line. "Think we could discuss that tree?" he asked, his voice a jovial rumble.

I sunk further into the worn armchair, the cushions swallowing me whole. My arms felt heavy, leaden. Just the thought of conversation made my shoulders ache.

"It's blocking my view of the sunset," Mr. Henderson continued, oblivious to my internal struggle. I offered a mumbled agreement, my voice barely a whisper. The thought of going outside, of making decisions, of actually *doing* something about the situation was beyond my capacity at the moment. The prospect of having to talk, to negotiate, to *manage* this whole tree thing, sent a wave of utter weariness through me.