A Life of Extremes

You could call me an extreme life-liver. Moderation has never been my strong point. I’m on or I’m off. I’m hot then I’m cold; I’m yes then I’m no–thanks Katy Perry. I’m either closed to the world, refusing to reveal even a scrap of emotion, or I’m a constant stream of tears and feelings. I can be a shy and anxious hermit who leaves the house only for necessities, or I’m the unique life-of-the-party with an insatiable need for socialization and stimulation. I am the rusty van that barely leaves the garage; I am the sports convertible being chased by cops all the way down the highway. I’m all or nothing. 

I’m trying to teach myself practicality and logic. No matter which extreme I happen to be at, I’m never rational. I never think in terms of what is true, what is factual, what is in my best interests. And I need to. It’s really quite straining to be flying back and forth between sloth and cheetah, so I think a little rationality might be good for me. I kind of feel bad for my friends and family for putting up with me. It’s not like I don’t try, I just think it’s hard for moderate sort of people to understand. Not that I’m making excuses or anything…


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