Maybe I am a sociopath, but I don’t think so. I have feelings aplenty, just not fear. I love my twin, robust red wines, blueberry pancakes, and eighties flicks. And I even love my father. I loathe my ex and the dumb cow he screwed in our bed. I abhor the smell, texture, and taste of pickles. Baby animals make me cry, and there’s nothing funnier than crass jokes. See? Feelings. And I have a conscience. I don’t willfully hurt or manipulate others, unless they deserve it. I’m not crazy. Then again, crazy people rarely think they are.
