I’m finishing up the class of American literature that I taught the bulk of in January. I only taught 2.5 hours this morning, but it was such a rush; a reminder that this is where I’m in my element. Once again I found myself getting chills as I read passages from the text; once again I found myself practically stumbling over my own words to answer students questions; once again I found myself raising my voice and arms in excitement. This is what I feel best doing. Maybe it was simply the fact that it was in the morning and I had more energy before the heat of the afternoon set it. I was sweating but the love of the material made everything else seem irrelevant. I only have another hour and a half teaching this subject this semester, and half of that I have to use for review. I’m hoping to rework the American Studies class next fall into more of a literature course so I can try to imitate these ecstatic feelings again.