Gemotions

"Oh, great," Michael muttered, the words barely audible as he held the invitation. He felt a profound drain on his energy. He hadn't even had the energy to get dressed yet, his bathrobe still clinging to his thin frame. He dropped the paper on his messy desk.

The thought of having to get ready, to actually *go* anywhere, seemed like an impossible task. His mind was a foggy mess, each thought heavy and slow to form. He stared at his reflection, the image of his tired eyes and unshaven face offering no motivation.

He slumped back in his chair, a deep, weary sigh escaping him. The world seemed to be moving at an accelerated pace, and he was firmly stuck in neutral. He would probably just skip it, he reasoned, the thought bringing a slight, fleeting sense of relief.