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An old boyfriend told me once that I am mercurial. Few who know me well would disagree. I’ve learned to accept it’s who I am, not a failing so much as a fact.
My environment changes me regularly. The untidiness of the house can throw my mood out of whack. “Why doesn’t anyone pick up around here?” A clean and simple refrigerator can bring me great joy. “Ah, the cheese in the drawer just where it should be when I need it.”
My relationships move me to both ends of the passion spectrum. “Why isn’t he answering the PHONE?” I might scream only to turn around to find the cup he took the time to repair after it fell to the floor. “He’s the best,” I think.
It is this mercurial temperament that pushes people away and pulls them back in–simultaneously. I am a raging eye of the storm deep inside the calm of the seas. A contradiction. An enigma, I guess for some. I stand strong in the faith I have, though, that instead of it being a curse or a fault, my temperament allows me to bend but not break.