I have always been a fickle man, especially in the matter of hobbies. As a child my mother took me to attend karate classes. I reached the level of a white belt. She stood in the rain twice a week to watch me play football, and I played for a year or so before the winter arrived and I decided I would rather stay in bed. Besides, cleaning the mud off my football boots was a tedious and dirty job that I never much enjoyed. In my later years I wrestled for a few weeks but a friend insisted he would join me and the embarrassment I felt about my body had me excusing myself from the sport though, I did rather enjoy it when I was alone.
Friends and work acquaintances have come and gone. I become passionately attached to one person at a time, change my speech and my hairstyle to fit in with them more and show interest in things that I could usually care less about. Then if they are unable to attend a party I planned or excuse themselves from lunch a fire burns inside me so intensely that it destroys the friendship instantly.
Relationships have been much the same. So intense love so quickly for anyone that shows any interest in anything I have to say. I will chase the person down and back them into a corner so that they have little option but to call themselves my partner. Then I would smother the relationship so forcefully that the oxygen soon runs out and all that is left is an empty vacuum.
Even the stories I write remain unfinished. As I say,