Strange Mixture

STRANGE how I'm made. . .half mystic and half mutt, my eyes upon the stars, my feet deep in the mud, wanting them both--both stars and mud--thinking they both are swell! One moment lying, and the next I'd die for truth; one moment kind, big-hearted, understanding, loyal; the next as tricky as the devil and as cruel as hell. Queer, how a soul can be split up like that--part God, part scallywag. It's queer. It's convenient, too, because you're never sure which part is on the job. Just when you think you're set to act the saint, something inside goes flop--and there you are, a slob!