Gemotions

The coffee tasted like dirt. I slumped in my chair, staring at the blinking cursor on my computer screen. The words wouldn’t come. The prospect of writing anything, of doing anything, seemed utterly exhausting.

John was already making small talk with Mr. Davis, their boss. His voice was bright, full of vigor. The contrast was painful. I felt like I was wading through mud, while he was effortlessly gliding on a surfboard.

I sighed, leaned back in my chair, and shut my eyes for a moment. The pressure behind them intensified. The afternoon would be interminable.