You obsess over commas. You freak out at the mall. You rage at the sound of a leaf blower. It’s been four years and you still haven’t found the right color for your bedroom walls. You remember violent movie images for weeks. You know what emotions strangers are feeling. You have a gazillion ideas in your head, especially at 3am. You’re reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy for the ninth time. You’ve been enraptured for years with the search for gravitational waves. You cry listening to NPR. You remember the time you smashed Robert’s lego airplane when you were five. And you still feel guilty.
What does this mean? Are you crazy?
I know how you dislike that word. It’s awkward. Everyone is gifted. Yada yada yada.
I know that you don’t feel gifted. All of those other people are so much smarter than…
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