Gemotions

The hammering stopped. Silence descended upon the apartment, broken only by the rapid thudding of my own heart. A moment later, Mr. Henderson, his face contorted with displeasure, was standing in my doorway. “The… the *construction*! It’s unbearable!” he barked.

I felt a rush of… exhilaration, perhaps? I'd been building a bookshelf, a project I'd been dreaming about for weeks. The sound had been lost to me. I'd been so focused on the precise angles, the perfect fit of the wood.

My palms began to sweat. I wanted to describe the satisfaction of driving in each screw. I wanted to detail my process. I wanted to show him my handiwork.