Let's Go Play on the Mood Swings

So, if we were to pretend, right, that somewhere, in a room some place, there exists a blueprint that's as big as me.

It's probably shoved in a really big metal drawer or something, kind of crumpled, but useful, nonetheless.

So, anyway, picture a huge, nearly six foot tall blueprint just sitting in a drawer, in a room. And, of course, this blueprint is basically a map.

A map, as it turns out, to me. A map of my "buttons," if you will.

Now, imagine that every little thing about me is mapped out on this Me Blueprint.

So, it clearly indicates things such as how many seconds I will wait behind someone at a red light before I honk; how long I can stand someone tapping their nails on a counter top; what you have to say in order to make me laugh so hard that I cry, etc.

This Me Blueprint is the deconstruction of everything that makes me tick.

Okay, now that you've imagined this document, imagine that someone has it in their possession. That they know it, have studied it, and can use it for good or evil.

That's what it's like with him.

He's got the freaking answer key right in front of him. He knows what to say, how to say it, and could probably bet money on what my reaction will be. I swing - good mood, bad mood, I like you, I hate you - back & forth; he's pushing me on the swing set.

I hate it.

So, I will now attempt to regain control of the situation.

I'm going to do some remodeling, change up the blueprints a bit, and watch him fumble through the old version, the one that's been shoved in a drawer for all these years, while a different contractor can get a look at the new specs.

(I might be stretching this metaphor a bit... but I'm kind of into it nonetheless.)