About Oberonics
My wife often says she feels like she doesn't really know me. She says she feels like she knows maybe a third of me, but there's a whole two-thirds buried under my male, analytical, "do this to fix that" persona. There's an emotional little boy crying to get out, to expose all his deepest wants and needs, but he's stifled, stuffed down by my need to be strong, appear impervious to any kind of weakness, and in short, "act like a man". If I could just let down my guard and lay down the "act" , I could uncork all that pent up emotion and learn what it's really like to relate to another person, to feel, to be human.
I can understand perfectly why my wife diagnoses me as emotionally constipated. Consider a typical conversation my wife might enjoy with one of her female friends. My wife just pings her with a dinky little prompt, something like "So...how's things with your son?", and her friend blats out everything for the next twenty-five minutes, like she was a 1-gallon balloon holding 5-gallons of water.
Now consider her typical conversation with me. My wife does not simply prompt me. No, she learned long ago that I need primed, so she first blats to me about a concern of hers, and THEN prompts me with something like "What do you think?" Bulging with her blat and pricked by her prompt, my response bursts forth:
Yup. I'm a blitwit, a man of few words. On occasion, I muster enough steam to expel a "Blut", but never anything close to a full-fledged "BLAT". But now, after all these years, I finally hit on a way to perhaps not remedy, but alleviate the situation. In time, it might even enable me to verbally BLAT. As a writer, words always flowed easier from my hands than my mouth, and now, with this website, I have a basin into which all my pent up, little boy emotions can flow. Then my wife can come and discover things about a man she never knew, but was always there.
So essentially, this page is the playground of my mind. I can post poetry, commentary, short stories, installments of novels, even incredible art like you've just seen, anything I want. And no doubt, I'll end up divulging secrets of men. Some of you men out there might cringe a bit at some of my stories. You might think, "No, no! Don't write that. I don't want my wife asking me questions about that. Can't we just keep that in The Secret Society of Men? And what about the single guys? How are they supposed to impress girls with this kind of top-secret intel leaking to the other side? Don't betray your brothers, John. Just don't. We need to stick together."
Sorry, boys. I'm breaking ranks.