I learned a new word yesterday. Monachopsis. The word was in a novel I'm reading--The Perfect Wife, by JP Delaney, a rather inventive mix of mystery, psychological thriller and horror genres. But I'll say more about that later.
Monachopsis is the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surrounding as a seal on a beach--lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.
That is exactly the way I so often feel! Except that I don't even have the company of misfits to console me.
Of what use it is to me to be defined, I'm not sure. But at least I know the proper word now!
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