Gemotions

My jaw clenched as the first jackhammer blast split the Saturday morning silence. It vibrated through the floorboards of my apartment, a jarring counterpoint to the quiet I craved. I slammed my fist on the table, scattering the meticulously arranged collection of tea lights. Another thud echoed from next door. This was going to be a long day. I needed to finish that report.

I poured myself a fresh cup of lukewarm coffee, the bitterness doing little to quell the churning in my stomach. The pounding started again. I paced, the small space feeling claustrophobic. Each vibration felt like a physical blow.

"This is not happening," I muttered, grabbing my phone and hitting the mute button on the news. I looked out the window at the sunny day, but the light was a painful bright, and my eyes hurt. I opened the blinds, a futile attempt to ignore the construction noises.