I don’t know if I am tricky or not. I know I’m not one of those MONSTERS who just bulldoze through life being awful and yet somehow getting a great man, a great house and a great life despite her blackness of soul. I also am not one of those ANGELS who manage to do everything for the good without being either worthy or grabby in the process. But I don’t know whether I am difficult or not. In the end.
I know I can be a monumental pain in the arse; mostly my arse by the way. Panicking and blustering and controlling and grieving and worrying. And I know this manifests as obtuse and irritable sometimes. So I am clearly no angel.
But, if we are all ice cream sundaes – layered– except instead of chocolate fudge sauce and vanilla ice cream we have tiered personalities that go easy, impossible, easy, impossible, then what lies at the heart: Easy or impossible? I’d like to know. When people ask – as they oddly do – “Are you low maintenance or high maintenance?” I would like to be able to reply. To myself as much as to them.
I know we all have many colours to our rainbow and many textures to our biscuit but I’d like to know which pigeon-hole I nest in. If humanity were a library, how would my sometimes sunny, sometimes sorry arse be classified? In the end. But, I suppose, it’s not the end. And shapes keep shifting and tempers keep swinging and characters keep evolving. We are all more than one woman but, if I were to do the maths, what is the percentage of arsehole versus angel? Just want to know where I stand.