No Really, I Meant Literally

Something funny happened to me on my way back from writing class the other day...

Well okay, something happens to me after every writing class. I get happy. No, happy doesn't cover it, really. Giddy is a better word choice. Doesn't matter what we did in class, either. Whether it be a low energy day or a Writing Is Great session, by the time I pull into work (creative writing bumps against my work shift twice a week) I feel like I'm marching onto the center platform at the Olympic Games. Halfway down the hall, the sensation bubbles up until I want to spin around, arms held aloft. Then I remember where I am. Work. Hospital. The place with a special ward set aside for grown women who spin themselves about in the halls. So I refrain and the gears begin to downshift. Poof! Mood wears off. Rinse and repeat next class.

This not being a common thing for me, I felt obligated to Email my writing instructor. After all, if I must risk admittance to the Special Ward every time I leave class I think the college catalog should post a warning label about it. Bless her wondrous, creative soul, she replied saying I have good ability for using words to express feeling. While I don't mean to shun a compliment from a writing teacher, I do believe she thinks I was engaging in word play. No REALLY, Teacher, I Want To Spin Around After Your Class. Literally. Telling here, not showing.

Do I want to pursue this further? I'm going with no. For all I know, the school has a Special Class for students who tell their teachers they want to spin around. But I've learned a valuable lesson about myself. Writing Really Makes Me Happy. Yeah, pretty simple. But many of life's greatest truths are.