I think I'm seeping personality from my pores. (That would at least explain why my cat is always sniffing at me...that and a severe nipple fetish) As I get older I feel more normal every day. I feel less intelligent and I'm satisfied with that. I feel less kooky and that's not a problem either. I used to feel so full of emotion that just staring out the window for too long would make me cry and nights would be spent contemplating my own existence. I would become so overjoyed with the smell of fresh sheets that I would weep because I couldn't handle so much happiness all at once.
I used to hope that this would happen one day - that the waves of emotion that would carry me from black hole to brilliant high would even out and I could sail calm water into my thirties. Who knew it would actually happen? It sounds like a sad thing, a decent into mediocrity, but it doesn't feel sad. It feels wonderful. I'm happier existing in the middle.
Now don't get me wrong...when I do get angry I still want to rip my hair out and when I'm hurt I feel like there is a gaping, bloody hole in my chest. It all just happens less often.