Mid-life crisis: My blood-soaked taxi mercy-dash hell
I know what you're thinking. Not the arm again. He keeps promising no more of the arm and then he starts on again with the arm. And I hear you; I do. But how do you think I feel? Each time I keep thinking I am finally breaking free of its clutches and moving on, it thinks of something else to hold me back.
As I sit here now, typing with one hand, the arm is wrapped around me tightly, tied to me. "Now so, Daddy. This is where I belong, wrapped tightly around you. Just you and me. Shure why you want to be going out there in the world when you can stay at home here with me? There's nothing out there for you."
The arm has a severe case of Munchausen's by proxy. Last Thursday, it sensed that I was trying to move on with my life so it resorted to extreme measures. It literally exploded in a taxi. I felt the pressure build in the lump that had popped up on Tuesday, and then a warm wet feeling. I thought maybe it was all in my head initially, but then I found blood. And then I didn't need to look for the blood any more because it was everywhere.