My head is no longer a head. It’s a teeming cauldron of germs and bacteria, a giant petri dish of contagion. Synapses and neurons are, for all intents and purposes, marinating in a turbid swamp of noxious microorganisms as we speak. Nothing is moving up there, not thoughts, not impulses, not signals. And I’m left to wonder, what’s the capacity of a human skull, anyway? How much fluid can the damn thing hold? Quarts? Gallons? Metric tons?
If I could think I’d do the math, but I can’t. So I did some research, instead, and decided the existing data is laughably, woefully wrong. According to the statistics I found, cranial capacity is in the neighborhood of 1400 cubic centimeters. By converting those cubic centimeters into fluid ounces, we arrive at a volume somewhere around 47± fluid ounces or just under a liter and half.
Are they kidding?
The human head weighs between 8 and 12 pounds, with 10 pounds being the average. The brain, an organ located within the head, accounts for a measly 3-pounds. That leaves a very mysterious 5 to 9 pounds of weight unexplained. What else is up there? Well, I’ll tell you: barrels of stuff, tons. My head, for instance, has become its very own wellspring; not of knowledge, but of phlegm. I don’t need tissues, what I need is a sump pump. Or maybe a bagful of desiccants.
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