xmx plays hockey. xmx plays hockey with men. sometimes the men knock xmx over. sometimes xmx gets hurt. two nights ago xmx was playing hockey with men and women when she was knocked over by a man. xmx hit her head pretty bad. the doctors would have been worried had xmx gone to the doctor's office. but xmx is into self-diagnosis.

instead xmx has me call her late at night to make sure that she is still alive. i do. she is.

xmx and i are broken up, so i don't even know why i get up to call her that late. but i do anyway. like i said. she is alive.

whoopee.

apparently xmx knocked her occipital cortex really hard and was unable to focus for a few seconds. some areas associated with memory and emotion are back there too, which seem to have been moderately affected.

xmx is in no mood to quibble about doctor's visits though. like kramer's tick and loss of short term memory after he was beaten up by crazy eddie, xmx doesn't notice it.

yet, a tiny sliver of bone is already threading its way into the corpus callosum. Worse than ACC, worse than an acranoid cyst, the sliver will soon snap the hemispheric connections and xmx will no longer be able to sit up on her own.

enter me, still named on all the insurance documents as primary beneficiary.

so, in a week or so's time, xmx will awake, trapped in her own mind like a decapitated head perserved in a jar placed on the other side of deep wide moat from her motionless body.

I bet if you could hook up an interpretive machine to brain-damaged paralytics who retain their higher cognitive functions, you would be witness to one long endless scream that never gasps for air and never runs ragged.


anyway, as the son and heir to her insurance payoffs, and possessing the power of attourney, I shall travel to this fairfax, purchase us a home, and some sweet accoutrements for myself, and proceed to feed the worthless stubborn, dessicating body her apricots, spooning them into her flaccid, blind face.

knowing that she hates the apricots but craves the attention, the nearness.

the best sort of outward kindness concealing my most secret dreams of total domination

everyone will praise me and my apricot spooning and my bed pan evacuating removal and replacing.

except for one lonely soul who lacked the foresight to go to the doctor and avoid her present bondage. xmx and if you listen very hard next to her bedside, perhaps, just perhaps, you might hear her cry. the cry of the apricots, and revulsion of her body, which takes, and processes and eliminates the apricots. the cry of the helpless, the imprisioned and the damned.

so xmx, go to the doctor.