Gemotions

Clara found herself compulsively tidying her desk, straightening the stapler, organizing the pens by color, even though everything was already perfectly arranged. The offer of a promotion was dangling in the air, but the decision had yet to be made. Her stomach felt like a knotted rope. The air conditioning blasted, but a persistent sweat clung to the back of her neck.

She kept catching herself staring at the doorway, anticipating a summons, a congratulatory pat on the back, or perhaps a crushing disappointment. Her mind raced, replaying conversations, dissecting every word, every gesture. She felt a need to stay busy, to prove her worth to anyone who looked at her.

Lunch hour found her pacing the office building's parking lot, the asphalt radiating heat. She bit at her lip, her thoughts a jumble. She couldn't focus on her sandwich. The usual rhythm of her life had been knocked askew, the mundane suddenly fraught with significance.