My intelligence led itself not to a conflict, but to an intellectual dissonance: I understood intellectually that I was supposed to feel things. I understood that society considered my lifestyle to be wrong, that most people would frown upon a different man every night and a bottle of booze to accompany it. They would not have approved of a girl who dabbled in illegal substances but was too intelligent to ever get caught or get addicted.
I myself did not feel morality; I did not sense morality. I knew what I had learned from books and television shows and movies. I devoured the media by the handful, by the bucketful. I buried myself in the thoughts and feelings of others to see if I could find it for myself. I couldn’t.
And all this television and all these books and all these magazines told me I should be sad that I was so heartless. But I wasn’t. I was just bored and bored and bored.
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