Gemotions

The simplest tasks felt monumental. The shower felt like a wrestling match. Now, the shrill voice of the Homeowners Association President, Mr. Olsen, at the door demanding she look at his fence proposal. The sheer effort of opening the door felt exhausting.

He stood there, a whirlwind of gesturing hands and enthusiastic pronouncements. He was excitedly describing a new wrought-iron fence. She found herself sinking further into the entryway, as if the very idea of standing upright required more force than she possessed.

She attempted to focus, but the words felt like a jumble. “Sounds good,” she finally managed, the effort of forming the phrase leaving her feeling depleted. He beamed. She closed the door, the weight of the day pressing down on her again.