Who Says I'm Hyper Sensitive?!?!

Happy Sunday morning!
Hope you've got hot coffee, you've read the new Post Secret and are just bored enough to sit here for three minutes.
I've been thinking about all the blogs that I follow and the millions of words I process every week. I'm pretty sure we all spill out of each other from time to time. I am the by-product of every place I've ever been, every conversation I've ever had and every person I've ever loved.
I am many things, and part of you is a part of me. Good, bad or indifferent - if we've spent any time together you are here.
I spent all of my youth hearing my father scream "You are so g'damn hyper-sensitive!" at me. (And, when I say "youth" - I mean till I was about 40.) The whole concept of hyper-sensitivity occurred to me long before it became a catch-phrase in our contemporary vernacular.
And, truth be told, just hearing about it gave me a reprieve from the self-loathing that I'd nurtured for so long. I had never really seen it as an asset.
Being hyper-sensitive in the house I grew up in wasn't viewed as so much a good thing. In spite of this, or maybe because of it, I have refined my own personal hyper-sensitivity to a science worthy of mention.
I have many friends who have been diagnosed "Super Tasters." They are predominately artists, writers and musicians. This diagnosis (yes, I took liberty with it) is probably a marketable skill and still, somehow, not always a good thing.
If there is one teeny weeny fleck of Cilantro in a bite of my food, I have to spit it out. Cilantro takes me back to having my mouth washed out with soap (Dial soap) back in the early 70's. (My daughter did some kind of research into this and discovered that there are two distinct kinds of humans in the world: Those who love Cilantro and those who taste soap. It's psychology.)
Some of us are painfully aware of everything while others of us wouldn't notice if the other one of us burst into flames.
And, I am so good with this. Thank God you are here.
Creative types are going to be more inclined to notice stuff. To know things about stuff. To weep when they hear minor chords all back to back. To laugh at prat falls and pranks that are more pedestrian than high-brow. To smell and be able to separate the lilac from the honeysuckle.
I certainly wouldn't wish this on just anyone, I've always thought it would be a helluva lot easier to be ignorant.
I know I am doing the right things for the right reasons and I'm treating everyone how I'd want to be treated.
And, regardless of where we are at now, I'm glad we were there once and we can't undo that.