down the middle

I belong to October, the month with the balance. I feel right at home in the curve of its metal scale, but my scale is only in balance because I hang at two extremes.

You're either here or you're not, me there or I'm not, it's either fair or it's not, ice cold or steam hot. I don't do half.

It's either all or it's none, interest high or it's gone, working hard or I'm done, clothed in misery or in fun. I don't do middle.

Yet there it is, kept in perfect form by equally heavy ends on either side.