My lack of empathy can sometimes be an advantage. I do not fall for the spiels that salesmen present me with. Or that door-to-door people like to use. Their tactics are wasted on me. They are trained to keep talking at you, to build familiarity, until you crack and buy whatever they are peddling. They could be selling oxygen, and I would not buy it. I can see too much of me within them. I think they can see it too, to some degree.
Small children cannot blackmail me with their emotional games. I can withstand crying, tantrums, pleas, begging, and the myriad of other games that children like to attempt. Parents choose not to leave their kids with me, and for that I am rather relieved. It is probably in the best interest of the child to remain as far aware from me as possible. I am not a responsible adult as far as that is concerned I can sleep soundly at night knowing someone else is worrying about these things.
Except that is a lie. I do not sleep soundly. I lie awake at night, working out solutions to mathematical problems that no one else would think about. Or else I fall into terrible nightmares to the point where I wake up either screaming, or I find myself with a hurt wrist or fist from having punched the wall next to my bed in some kind of slumbering rage. Perhaps it is best that I do not remember those dreams. Or maybe I need to hunt them down like a wounded animal, dissect them, and find out what they really mean.