But how do you feel?

A few years ago, I attended a writing class, taught by a sincere and well-meaning young teacher. He used to exhort us to insert more of our emotions into our writings. "Make your story come alive," he would urge his students. "Include your emotions into the narrative. Tell how you FEEL."
With this in mind, I determined to note my feelings throughout the course of one day, just to make sure I do actually have feelings, and when and how I feel them. So, dear reader, please take note.
I woke up feeling cranky, which is not at all unusual for me. I never wake up feeling cheerful, or hopeful, or glad to be awake. So I lingered under my electric blanket for as long as I dared. I felt rebellious, wondering why I had to get up at all. But then I became aware of the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee, wafting into my room. It was my husband's secret weapon. Try as I do, i can never resist the chance to have a cup of his wonderful brew.
So I arose, and staggered out into the kitchen. I felt sleepy and groggy, and not a little depressed. But when I dropped gratefully into my chair, and began drinking that delicious, hot, strong coffee, i began to feel better. By the time I finished the first cup, I was ready to face the day. I was, of course, feeling hungry, but my husband, jewel that he is, had for my consumption a hot bowl of oatmeal. I ate it with pleasure, being glad that it wasn't lumpy and had been fully cooked. I felt gratitude that the powers that be had provided me with a husband who not only brewed delicious coffee, and made good oatmeal, but also brought me my pills and stood by while I swallowed them. Not to mention protected my from myself by hiding the chocolate candy.
My spoon was just scraping up the last of the oatmeal, when the telephone rang. Feeling a stab of apprehension, I rose to answer it. (continued)