therapy

This week I decided I need to take my brain to couples counseling.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!,” it screamed banging itself so hard up against my skull that I wonder if I might not have suffered a contracoup injury.
“Sorry, we’re going,” I said. I affected detached attitude. I knew better than to engage with my brain. It is a resentful adolescent with a borderline personality disorder. There is no reasoning with it. You set the limit and just sit through the hell that breaks loose. It did.
“You suck,” it said picking up my manuscript and heaving it across the room. I was surprised at this gesture as it is an armless thing. I think it actually hissed at me too. I refrained myself from reacting, something I’ve done for years. Because it always wins.
“Couples,” I reiterated, picking up my manuscript.
“You don’t even know what reiterated means. And anyway,I’m going to Berlin.” This was a standard tactic of my brain. Threatening to leave me. Wishful thinking on my part. I wanted to say “fine go, good riddance,” but I’m supposed to be a practicing Buddhist which means I’m committed to well, at least being civil. I don’t roll with compassion. So rather that swear at it, I just shrugged my shoulder.
“I have the checkbook,” I said looking over my chronically bent cheap-ass Walgreens wire rims. “And the debit card. And anyway you don’t even have a name, much less a passport.” Okay, so I barely roll with civility.
“I knew it, you hate me.” It sat down in my chair (or rather squished down as it is just a brain. and it has no legs.)
“I do too,” it said.
“Do what?” I was confused.
“Have legs.” It started to cry which is a major feat for a disembodied brain.
Like I said. Couples therapy is clearly in order here.