You run on connection between things — the fact, the pattern, the exact word. Conversations with you have doors in them. You'd rather be corrected than vague, and you can translate anyone to anyone, which makes you the room's secret infrastructure.
The cost is stillness. An unstimulated hour feels like a malfunction, and the restlessness can skim you across surfaces — ten open tabs, three half-finished projects, a mind that narrates instead of lands.
Mercury is the messenger, not the message. The practice is choosing, occasionally, one thing worth going slow for — one idea studied past the interesting part. Depth is just curiosity that stayed. You have more of it than you think.