If there’s one thing I want you to know about me it’s that I’m not a sociopath. There’s a good chance I will apologize, and mean it, at least three times in this post.
One of the reasons I believe that I write about women so often is that I’m wired like one. I’ve joked in previous pieces that I’d make an outstanding lesbian. You should see my CD collection. No guy should have as much Sarah Mclachlan and Ani DiFranco. But I don’t feel I’m a woman in man’s body. That’s something physiological. If I had to be in pain once a month or give birth, I’d be even crazier than I already am.
I worry about all of you more than I consider myself. This isn’t a brag. In fact, I wish could be more of a dude and just think about football, beer, and boobies. But there’s all this empathy and guilt in the hand I was dealt. It’s frustrating.
When I started writing on Al Gore’s information superhighway, I was shocked that more women than men dug what I had to type. I’m fully aware that 80 or more percent of my readership and 90 or more percent of my commenters are female. Sometimes I wish the dudes would chime in, but then I read what I write and think, “you know, there’s little for them here.”
Living with four women is my life. It’s not just a punchline. When I’m the only guy at a cheerleading event or go weeks without having a conversation with another man, I just shrug my shoulders and put another sentence and foot in front of another.
Therapy and pills have been really good to me the past six or so years. I’ve likely done more work on myself, psychologically, than some drugs addicts and alcoholics. I still have a long way to go. Every morning I wake up, my first thought is how I can be a better example to my wife and three daughters. This year, although not unlike any others, I’ve made a lot of mistakes that an less lucky man would have paid a heavier price. I think the gifts and/or curses of empathy and wonder that I carry have taught me a lot about the kind of man I am and want to be. The part that I’m the most proud of is that I’m my own person and not a stereotype or carbon copy of someone I know.
In the middle of wondering if my four women are taken care of and are okay with the one guy they have to put up with, I’m living with mental illness that makes everything a lot harder. The internal landmines of anxiety and depression are frightening, and not in the cool Halloween sense. I don’t think being a male with these issues is any more difficult. I mean, if I wanted to, you know, try sociopathy, and march home and tell those chicks I support with my hard-earned money to wait on me hand and foot, then things could be easier……see that wasn’t the least bit believable, was it? I couldn’t type it with a straight face. Now, I’m worried four or five of you will be offended. I’m sorry.
I was in line for a burrito earlier and two younger guys were in front me. One says to the other, “I’m low on funds. Let’s get Nora (name changed to protect the innocent. Although she looked more like a Nora than her real name) to buy us lunch.” I felt bad for Nora. She looked like a nice person and these two fools didn’t deserve their free food. I came very close to telling Nora and then floating her a ten spot for her meal and trouble. This incident tells you what my head’s like on a daily basis. I wish I was different, but no matter what happens, I’ll always feel the pain.
One more day of voting for America’s Next Author. We’re up to 13th. Thank you so much. I need your support. http://www.ebookmall.com/author/lance-burson Please and thank you
Today’s song is from the great J Mascis and Dinosaur Jr. Here’s Feel the Pain…