Phase In, Phase Out

You know, the more I think about it, the more certain I get that I'm a Phase Person. A Phase Person is somebody whose personality is so far from well-rounded and wholesome that he/she can only ever be a passing phase in another person's life before the latter senses the need to detox. Clearly my self esteem levels are at full mast here. More seriously though, I don't think this a bad thing.

Longevity has never really been my strong point. I have noticed that most everything in life has a shelf life and pushed beyond its expiry date, a relationship, a yellow ointment for problems of the embarrassing kind and your favourite sitcom, will all eventually become a force of habit. In a word: tedious. And I'd just rather eat a washcloth.

Being a Phase Person has some very attractive perks - you don't have to give up smoking or swearing like a truck driver. All your worst habits like chewing your nails, your acute discomfort with brightly lit coffee shops and your endless reserves of self deprecating humour will seem cute/different/quirky. Some strange sexual caveat would probably bump you right up to 'exotic'.
For that short period of time, this is paradise for the kind of Twilight Zone person you are.

Until it all starts to go a bit runny.

One day your Phasees wake up and realise you are a very dysfunctional person indeed. Your obsession with toiletries, all in various nauseating floral scents, are the cause of their headaches. Your deep interest in their mothers' maiden names unsettles them slightly, and can they ever really trust someone who doesn't care for ice-cream? Don't even get them started on your tendency for having your few meaningful conversations with your bilingual, fruitcake of a dog.

From there it's only a matter of time before you become the star of their 'This one time...' stories which will most likely end in '...and then I met my wife/ turned to drugs/ found Jesus."

That's my least favourite part about being a Phase Person. It just never lasts.