Gemotions

The day stretched before me, an endless expanse of gray. The package arrived, as usual. I just let it sit, a lump against the door. "For Mr. Henderson," the label declared. I didn't know him, and I certainly didn't care.

My body felt like it was moving through water. Everything was a struggle. I knew I needed to eat, to shower, to do *something*. But the thought was so heavy.

Eventually, I dragged myself to the door, picked up the box, and deposited it on the kitchen counter. I stared at it. I wanted to lie down again. Instead, I opened it, finding only a worn leather notebook. I flipped it open, seeing pages and pages of writing. Then I closed it. I needed to sleep.