Gemotions

He clenched his jaw as the saw screamed through wood. It was impossible to concentrate with the incessant noise. David, usually a picture of calm, found himself snapping at his kids for trivial things. "Don't slam the door!" he'd bark, even though he knew he was the one being too loud in his own head.

He glanced at the half-finished model airplane on the coffee table. He should finish it. He'd promised his son. But it felt overwhelming, a symbol of all the projects he hadn't completed. He felt a familiar hollowness in his chest, a sensation that told him he wasn't measuring up.

Later, he stood in the garden, meticulously weeding. The sun beat down, but instead of the usual satisfaction, he felt a simmering dissatisfaction. The weeds seemed to multiply faster than he could pull them. Each one was a testament to his perceived shortcomings.