I recently watched the entire miniseries of John Adams last weekend. Tres Awesomeness, dude. John Adams is unequivocally my hero, primarily because there is just so much about him that I can relate to.

For one, he had a big mouth. Seriously, he couldn’t shut up for nothing, and it got him in all sorts of hot water. He always spoke what other people could only merely think, and for that he was much maligned by his peers. He wasn’t one for small talk and idle chatter either, his words always cutting right to the point, and if you didn’t like what he had to say, well that was just too damned bad.

He was also a plain and morally upright person. He didn’t care for riches or showy displays of affluence, preferring to dig into manure to help grow his crops than count money. During his diplomatic mission to Paris, he was offput by the decadent lifestyle of the French, who loved to party and engage in all sorts of lewd behavior. His rejection of their immorality and his headstrong pursuit to secure French naval support put him at odds with Benjamin Franklin (who was perfectly fine with having several mistresses) as well as the entire French court. Eventually he was unceremoniously dumped and forced to travel to Holland, where he remained until the American war ended.

But perhaps what I found most appealing about Adams was his wife, Abigail. It was she who kept his foibles in check and gave him sound advice when he sorely needed it. She was truly, as he once fondly referred to her, his “ballast.”

As for myself, When I look at my own life, especially absent of my own Abigail, I can feel myself teetering on the brink. Those who think my blog is over the top sometimes, you really have no idea. It’s all I can do sometimes to keep myself from going absolutely ape nutty and raging against all of mankind, to such an extent that I wouldn’t merely put people off: I’d make them deranged with fury and determined to see me shipped to the South Pole, preferably without my clothes. In a way, I’m just a fuse looking for a match.

It feels like I’ve been dropped in a world that is not my own. I can relate to no one, and none can relate to me, especially when it comes to women. When I’m confident, women see arrogance. When I’m nice, women see weakness. When I’m raging against the machine of life, women don’t see a wild animal that can be tamed, but rather a lost cause that needs to be committed.

The disconnect could not be any more severe, the rift any more wider. As each passing year goes by where I find myself without my ballast, I can feel myself unraveling, getting more and more bitter and filled with despair. I’m beginning to truly believe now that I have been born into a world to which there really is no better half who is able to tame this wild animal, and foment the love that I have longed for all my life.

If that is how it must be, then be prepared: you will see a side of me that will make Dante’s inferno look like Disneyland in comparison. The world will soon see what it’s like to have a John Adams, minus his Abigail.