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Often at such times, my sense of existing on the outside of my own life—on the outside of humanity, even—caused me distress. Now, when I consider it as a lifelong pattern, it disturbs me.
“But I’m a prickly pear—real soft on the inside. That’s just my Scorpio nature.”
The prospect of navigating indefinite unstructured time among a crowd of my peers, much like the prospect of college, made me feel as though I’d forgotten to put on something crucial—my pants, perhaps, or my actual face—whose absence would shock everyone else.
