As odd as it may seem to admit, my most unforgettable character is me. I'd always hoped that someday I would find the electrical box that governs the light switch that seems to suddenly flare, casting a spot light on every flaw, every bad experience of my life.

Sometimes I get irritated that the audience disappears, especially when I absolutely know that it is a stellar moment, a worthy example of my life's value. But I've learned how to appreciate those times, without applause.

Despite the passage of years, and a more stable temperament, there are times when some of those characters jump onto centre stage and take over, throwing me, the poised, sane woman into the shadows. The saddest part of these recurring cameo roles performed by my alter personalities, is that I'm the one who must explain the incidents. I am forced to smooth out the ripples, apply first aid to the victims of the theatrics and restore balance.

The hardest one to reconcile is the petulant child, the survivor of every form of abuse. I've hauled some pretty heavy timbers and reinforced all interior walls over the years, but occasionally something is said or takes place and this angry, intolerant bitch comes tearing out and has no trouble whatsoever in sticking her nose into issues that are none of her business. Even I, the mature woman, could not possibly tolerate any hint of real child abuse, but the battered little girl inside me has intervened when the situation still has displayed no evidence of victimization. Sometimes, just a hint is enough to arouse her stalking.

The rebel is the most difficult to control. It's as if she has seeped through some invisible crack from the vault where I think I've got her stored. There isn't a cave deep enough to eradicate her impact. She's famous for sneak attacks. I'll be driving into the supermarket with grandchildren in the car and she takes over the steering wheel. I find myself parking in fire routes or inventing parking spots, knowing full well that beneath the thin blanket of snow, yellow lines clearly indicate the row has ended.

"Grandma, the sign says you can't park here. Why are you leaving the car in an illegal zone?"

"I'm impressed that you can enunciate the word illegal."

"Why aren't you following the rules?"

"Because, I'm willing to pay for the consequences, do you understand the word consequences?"

This is an easy segue for me to discuss the hypocrite that has taken over the penthouse in this compartmentalized host that is still trying to sort out the cast of characters. The 'do as I say, not as I do,' philosophy has taken on strength. More than others, this character is someone I am most comfortable with, perhaps because in some small measure we both feel a sense of entitlement. There were no ribbons, no award ceremonies for the likes of us that battled life when it wasn't fair.

The hypocrite has allowed me to appreciate my love for vibrant colours, but has blinded me to the appreciation for the neutral shades that are invisible when primary colours become distracting. Delores, the group coordinator, who seems to demand some regal status-- pfft guardian angel, I'll be damned. Where was she when I needed celestial protection?

Well, she likes to test my attachment to the shadows of the past. Once when I decided to paint a room taupe, she sent me off to Home Depot for colour chips and sat with me as I tried to make a choice. Some of those paint chips were infused with pinks or greens and even blue. There is no single choice when it comes to taupe.

"Fine," I said, feeling the rebel fuel up. "I'll paint the room beige."

She laughed. "Why not try white. It's just as confusing."

The grandma the sensible, sane woman, the survivor of the obvious, continues to struggle to keep her file folders locked.

"Say, Delores, I've made a choice."

"Really? Do tell. Whatever you chose, I'm sure it will be lovely."

"Black. I've chosen black."

She laughed, before disappearing. She has other clients. "Will that be ebony, charcoal or ink?"

Would that I could only charge rent, I might be able to afford higher education--enlightenment.