Awhile back I was super hyper/happy/do-all-of-the-things/climb-every-mountain/re-connect-with-all-my-friends, and I was hoping that it would last for months. Sadly, I think it only lasted a little over a month.
I feel back to normal (which is still pretty good). I have been putting a lot of energy toward writing, for work, for students, for myself. Maybe that’s where the energy is going. The frantic sound of fingers on the keyboard is the soundtrack to my life right now. Last week, students worked in peer review groups, and I gave them feedback online. Students looked up, startled, at the sounds of my fingers flying over the keyboard. I am a very fast typist.
When I was much younger, I broke both of my arms between the wrist and the elbow at the same time. I was already a writer, then. I wrote stories. I read. I wrote some more. Sometimes my arms ache when I grip the steering wheel or my fingers get tingly, and I shutter to imagine a world where I can’t type, can’t work, can’t create, can’t be so much of who I am now.