Gemotions

He found himself staring at the same spot on the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. The fan above, its blades slowly turning, seemed to mock the inertia that had seized him. The draft of his thesis, a mountain of words he'd once been eager to climb, now felt like a suffocating burden. He hadn't touched it in days. Days bled into a blurry, indistinct mass. The announcement of Dr. Chen’s leaving had emptied him, a feeling like all the air had been suddenly, and irrevocably, sucked from the room. His hands, usually busy with typing, lay limp in his lap, the fingers drumming a slow, pointless rhythm against the worn fabric of his jeans.