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  • As I type this story, I have mere minutes left in my non-adult life. Society dictates that once one has revolved around the sun 18 times (albeit along with the rest of the earth) one is legally responsible for their actions, as well as several other little details that are supposed to dramatically transform one's life in various ways. As that spindly black hand crawls ever closer to the little number 12, are there molecules secretly aligning? Are there backroom forces planning the great turnover of my life? Is my outlook on life on the verge of wildly changing upon the big hand striking midnight? Is my deteriorating, yellowing image of the world as I know it finally going to be taken down by the construction workers and replaced by the crystal-clear plate-glass window of the Great Order of Adulthood, in which Cosmic Reality becomes suddenly clear to me in a rush of clarity? Somehow I doubt it. I've rolled the dice, I call your bluff, adulthood. Minus 10 points for overdramatization.

    So this is what it feels like to be a child. Interesting, interesting. I better remember it.
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