Gemotions

He glared at the blinking cursor, the email draft mocking him. His boss wanted revisions, *again*. He’d poured over it for hours, the words feeling like sand slipping through his fingers. His shoulders were stiff, a knot of tension forming between his shoulder blades. He just wanted to be *done*. He typed, "Fine, whatever. I'll change it, you win," and hit send, feeling a flicker of dark satisfaction. The recipient wasn’t his boss. It was his grandmother, who he had been trying to get to agree to a new type of herbal tea.