Gemotions

The morning light felt as if it were charging him. He was in his workshop, surrounded by wood, the scent of sawdust filling his lungs. It wasn’t a usual kind of energy, it was a creative one. He grabbed his chisel and began carving. The wood yielded to his hand. He wasn't just making a birdhouse, but a testament to his mood.

He worked through the day without a break, fuelled by something beyond coffee. The hours melted away. He needed to make something, to *build*. The sawdust swirled in the air, catching the sunlight, as though it, too, was caught up in the current of his mood.

At the clinic, the doctor described the symptoms: muscle cramps, intolerance to exercise. He listened, nodding, but his attention kept drifting back to the wood, back to the feeling of his fingers on the tools.

"So, you're not experiencing any of that?" the doctor asked, clearly confused.

He shook his head. "Actually, I feel like I'm on top of the world."