thinking about tumors and torn muscle walls and empathy and fear and suffering and christine. i'm ready to stop calling her xstine. i think about how my dad was with women, his mother, he seemed to hate her, and he hated sickness, and had no empathy, and i remember christine's mom after visiting with him cried she felt so sad for me. but what i think he felt without knowing probably what he felt, not being reflective in any way he could share, yeah, what he felt was fear. i'll never know really, but i'm bound to be revisiting his ghost, and his ghosts, or enacting his old fears, i think he was afraid of his mother, and i believe that was part of my reaction to christine. and the vague knowledge that she was going to birth that tumor (which she blamed on me), the gestation of our union or what you will, and then split. which she did. so time being omni-directional i may have been experiencing some dark force between my dad and his mom, and anticipating being left in the sprawling apartment meant for a family, and feeling the onset of my own groined rubicon. dang, it's fucking hard to write. my brain seizes. sorry, it's just my g.d. diary.

i don't know why i write this now. other than that old ghost, that twinge in my groin, that spark of fear.