Leanne Shapton's autobiography Swimming Studies talks boldly about emotional highs and lows. In the chapter "Piña Colada" there's a striking introspective analysis of one heightened mental state with a male-female-introspective twist:

Nina and I sit under a beach umbrella, two piña coladas in. I've just finished describing to her how easily I develop crushes, using as an example the man in the waiting area at the airport who boarded the small plane after us and who, before takeoff, declined my offer of an organic macaroon, explaining that he did not eat sugar. I am extolling the virtues of such crushes, that women need muses too, need to get a little carried away by the physical, the way men always have been, that though you have no idea who these people are, do not act, and will never see them again, there are those thrilling minutes when you know your body with every cell and yet don't know yourself, when you imagine the people in your life don't matter and you would give everything up. Nina barely noticed the man, while I was gulping reality down with my bottled water, afraid to turn around, fearful that James, two seats away and three years into our relationship, could tell.

_{^z - 2013-05-05}