Rob-world

Put my headphones on, and listened to HEDLEY sing. Saw a great Robin Williams film tonight, BOULEVARD.   I used to act similarly to Williams in this movie; going around talking to random hustlers on Santa Monica Blvd.,  about why they were doing what they did,  without judgement, and, back  then (the mid to late 80s) asking were they protecting themselves against  this new disease called A.I.D.S.  Some were, some weren't; the money was better if they didn't.  I never crossed the line with any of them though; meeting them, for me, wasn't about getting my kit off.  More  about learning who they were as people; these boys who were only viewed as cum dumps by most... other men. Now  Matt Nathanson is  singing  in my ears.

I

I'm looking for where I failed in 2015 to see where to focus my resolution energy.  Writing of course; even succeeding at  this is irregular at  best.  Finding friends?  I worry that I'm too self-involved now  to be a good friend. For over a decade now I've  put my recovery selfishly, even cruelly and probably detrimentally  first. That  has to stop. There has to be more to me than my recovery, there simply has to. There is, but no  one's looked  for  it,  really, in over  a decade.  I don't need to just get back to where I was at the end of January, 1999.   But where I can be, now. I would miss the old me, but really, what's the  point in that?

Meeting tomorrow; I've GOT TO get to bed.  After Meeting, I've gotta go get champers for New Year's Eve. GOT TO. Veuve Cliqcot, if I can afford it. Hopefully, the store will still have the small bottles.

I hope my Dad reaches back and remembers all the great ones we had with Mom; I know I will.

But after the grim days I’ve had lately,  that’s saying  a Helluva lot.  When it’s really bad, Grendel helps me level out.A LOT.  So, thank you, Scott  for him. The  new STAR WARS was on sale for a hot minute  in the iTunes store, during my latest  computer fit, so I missed out on that.  FRACK.  (Any BATTLESTAR GALACTICA fans out there feel me?) I still dunno what to do with the rest of my life. The trust is conservative,  which I guess is as it should be, but I will  admit that a lot of  my suicidal impulses & talk bubbles up when other people  present themselves as  knowing some illicit news about the trust and  it’s use;I should trust my Trustees more and have a  more conscious faith in my knowledge my Trustees don’t talk out of school to anyone about  my  money, but it’s SO DAMN HARD, WHEN YOU’RE HEARING IDLE CHATTER.

My own, primarily.  I’m waiting until Grendel and  my dad go,  then I’m out. See, Butch has been telling me for years now I’m  getting  worse,  and I guess  he’s right. I keep fucking up my  Mac. The Trust, at Butch’s behest not  mine, keeps taking it to Bundy’s  for repairs.    I’ve  been trying to get the Trust to let me buy a  copy  of DiscWarrior,  for, oh, 3 years now. which is what Bundy’s uses,  at least initially, for  repair. but I have never been  able to save up the $119.95 it costs, and I guess Butch and the Trust would rather keep enriching Bundy’s coffers; maybe they get kickback; I doubt  it, but  I’m hurting like a motherfucker right now. I didn’t sign up for this.  If I’m truly getting worse,  and my recovery  has worse than stalled,it’s sunk, like Butch keeps saying,then I’m  checking  out when Grendel dies.

  My own, primarily.  I’m waiting until Grendel and  my dad go,  then I’m out. See, Butch has been telling me for years now I’m  getting  worse,  and I guess  he’s right. I keep fucking up my  Mac. The Trust, at Butch’s behest not  mine, keeps taking it to Bundy’a  for repairs.    I’ve  been trying to get the Trust to let me buy a  copy  of DiscWarrior,  for, oh, 3 years now. http://www.alsoft.com/DiskWarrior/ which is what Bundy’s uses,  at least initially, for  repair. but I have never been  able to save up the $119.95 it costs, and I guess Butch and the Trust would rather keep enriching Bundy’s coffers; maybe they get kickback; I doubt  it, but  I’m hurting like a motherfucker right now. I didn’t sign up for this.  If I’m truly getting worse,  and my recovery  has worse than stalled,it’s sunKK, like Butch keeps saying,then I’m  checking  out when Grendel dies.

Another  night  where I'm so alone, so lonely. That's all, really.   For now.

I’m no longer allowed, by my Trustees, to install software updates on my Mac. They gave that power  to  Butch, who lapped up that new authority over  me  as quickly as a thirsty dog  laps up radiator fluid. It’s another  example of how the quality  of my life/care has deteriorated since, well 1/31/99 surely, but also since the  Trust took over management of  my care from my Meeting.

Which means, only that my mood is pretty good right now.  I’m  listening to DISCLOSURE in my headphones. “Nocturnal” which seems oddly appropriate, given that it’s midnight, in a few.  I’ve begun reverting to my old, PRODUCTIVE sleep cycles: napping during the day, writing until late at night. Similar to  my pre-bashing set-up; when I did things, achieved things, led a fulfilling life. I’m not there yet.  But tonight, for the first  time in a long while, I feel like I’m on  my way.

 So, I screwed up.   AGAIN. There was this guy I really liked, 

Holly Woodlawn is dead.  We were friends.  I represented  and helped edit/develop her autobiography, A LOW LIFE IN HIGH HEELS, written with Jeff Copeland, who also was estranged from her at the time of  her death. Holly was a valuable commodity in terms of her personage, and I am worried that toward the end of  her life, she was surrounded by psychophants and users.  She was kind, generous to a fault,  and surprisingly  fair.  I am so grateful I knew  her as well as I did; and am truly sorry we lost touch. R.I.P.

while listening to Christmas music.  My collection of  same is truly diverse and well, I’ll say it, awesome.  It also makes me melancholy, and/or thoughtful.

I need to get over a crippling depression that has only gotten worse, lately.  But  I have no ideas, really, how to get over it.  Butch seems to  think a vacation would help, but I disagree.   After the vacation, I still return here, to my husk of a life.  Grendel's my suicide  prevention cat; as long as he lives, so do I. No worries. Readers, I'm sorry  to be  such a  repetitive downer lately, but I lost are than my sense of balance in the recovery process; I lost my autonomy. And, like my sense of balance, I dunno if, or how, I'll ever get it back.

I'm so tired; worked out with Brendan today; he really does such a great job of kicking my butt, in the best, most productive way.  I'll sleep well tonight. ZZZZZ....

Dunno for sure & I was gonna burn some holiday cds to distribute but  I  can’t find any blank ads or holders  anywhere; I hope Angie hid them as she is won’t to do.

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE repeated their  Trump hosting episode, and I watched it. It bothers me, but, sadly, does not surprise me that he’s doing so well in the polls.  This is the country that elected George Bush 2x, so of course I’m  worried. I blame America’s predilection to reality tv.  As a society, we  no longer use our minds to discern.  Instead, we suck down whatever “the glass teat” proffers. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Glass_Teat   No wonder I fled to Ireland.   I miss my potential.

& realizing it may’ve been one of the best purchases in my life.  These songs take me back to a time in my life when I reeked of that heady promise on un-fulfilled potential. I feel all I’ve reeked  of lately is a sour mixture of failed promise and desperation. “‘'Nuff said.  It’s clobbering time."

I'm listening to some Jay Z., and Kanye before bed.  Word.   Now Pet Shop Boys and Peter Rauthother. Meeting was good today.   Stabilizing.  Got to chat w/MLP, WHICH IS ALWAYS GOOD.  She gave me some much needed perspective on my recent troubles with my  assistant, Butch. This trouble, really, goes back years.  i trust him to know I'm not a racist; like I know he's not racist.  So, occasionally or often, I would send him photos of big, often black dicks, with some bad joke caption, when I find them. Was it in appropriate?  Should I have done it? In retrospect, no.  But I did.   & all I can do is break  the behavior, but in the meantime, I think Butch and I need to re-evaluate and, I think, end our working relationship.  Peter and Gil keep loading him down with new responsibilities, like grocery shopping.  These are things FAR beyond Butch's purview.  He's voiced feeling overworked to me, but I guess he's not comfortable  voicing it to them; he seems to think...

Given my recent Facebook  posts It is  or can be no secret  that  I’m horribly depressed.   I have no  life, and few friends.  Other than these brief entries, I don’t  write.   In part, because it’s exponentially  harder to type;   in part, too, because I have no new experiences coming in. It’s NOT his fault at all, but I’d hoped/thought when I made  Gil a co-trustee, it would mean my writing needs come to the fore.  Since I don’t even know what  they are: it is wildly unfair of me to expect this of him. So, what are they? As long as Grendel lives, so do I.

I mean, my life has gone from one therapy wheel to another the last 15 years.  Now that my most recent tour of Moss duty  is over, I need to replace it with something, but what?  As  it stands, my life is a big, empty void.  Butch's tendency is to fill it  up with crap ... but I think just the opposite tact is artfully, desperately needed.  I need the hollowness of the void that is/has become my life, to echo with the empty  reverberations of my desires and achievements.   And find out, what's next?

Today, well. yesterday as I write this,  was my last day of p.t. and o.t. at Moss.  I'm so freaking tired.  Butch escorted me to and from on the subway; so I wouldn't  have to deal with my mortal enemy, Paratransit.  Mighty white  of him.

Cirigliano, with Butch.  On the way there and back and he raised an interesting point: I often treat him as a friend, instead of an employee.  I admit, I’ve allowed the line to too  often blur, because I’ve been unsure of where to draw it, especially with the traveling we’ve done to Dublin and San Francisco.  But, I allowed the lines to blur. I take  responsibility for that. All I have do is quit it; make sure it’s clear, for both of us.  In short, I need more friends. Which  has kind of been my unceasing refrain, this past decade.

Meeting for Business afterward.   Long day with Friends; Carol Spawn was there; up from D.C.  It’s always great to see her; even if only for a few moments.  For a while there, right after my Mom died, she filled in for me as an almost surrogate mom.  She hosted my Dad, the few times he came up to see me, she and Wilman too,1x before he died; 1x after.  She has gay son, too;  which probably helps account for the almost family-like vibe, I’ve felt both from and towards her, in the  past.  And, presently.   She really came to the fore when I came back from Ireland.   I think, as the mother of a gay son, my assault was especially galvanizing for her, a “there but for the grace of God,” kind of thing.  

In hopes of going to Meeting tomorrow.  I’m SO depressed.   It’s not specific to my T.B.I.  Just general schadenfrode at my life these days. I nave NO control even over little things in my life.  Case in point:  my Keurig died.  Butch got me a Mr. Coffee because it was cheaper but also, harder for a person with t.b.i. to use.  Yes, I asked Butch for a Keurig, which I’ve used successfully for 3 years now.  He thought a cheaper one, in hopes, I guess, of  pleasing Gil & Peter.  Such is my life.  Yeah, an Apple watch would benefit me cognitively, but Butch has me  afraid to ask for one, though, as I think of it, Peter and Gil have been more than fine lately whenever I needed something, recently a bigger time machine, to go with the bigger hard drive Bundy’s installed last time  my Mac was  in the shop. I think I need to remind Butch, I’m  his boss, not Gil &Peter. M.F.W. tomorrow; I’m all shaved, but  I’m  SO  fucking tired. 

I just finished watching  MATT SHEPERD IS  A FRIEND OF MINE.  Sobbed in parts; grooved on the footage of him his family shared.  Is  it wrong that I find him almost impossibly hot?    My type, lately, has been younger, shorter, slighter than me.  Smart.  From what I saw in the film, that was Matt. Oy.  He also seemed to be a really stand up guy.  He was also HIV+ , which really isn't  that surprising, considering he was gang raped in Saudi Arabia.   He died 10/12, 1998, after  being assaulted 10/6/98.  I was gay bashed 1/31/199. Near  enough in time; what was in the air, then?

& no, I’m  not just regurgitating all the pop psychology crap I imbibed in the 1980s.  I’m  stating one  of the few truisims I know:  you control every detail of how you react to what happens in your life.  You can’t  control all the stuff that happens to you; but how you react:    that’s all you. My own life bears this out.

Is banging in my ears right now; has been, much of the day.  LOVE IT.

All  my dissatisfaction with my life can be traced back to the way I've  chosen to  live my  life, to a  great degree, in absentia  ever since 1/31/99.   Before then, I lived a relatively self-directed life:  Now, not so much. I want it back.

I think about  my  future an inordinate amount of time.  Right now, I don't see anything worthwhile ahead for me.   I'm  really only here for Grendel, right now. My future is dead; has been for a while now. I was  supposed to meet a old  friend today. But as usual, I fucked that up.  Went to the wrong Starbucks at the right time. The saddest  scene for me, in WHERE I AM is when Colm Toibin looks off, into the distance  of memory, and says,  "Oh yes, he was something." Was. It kills me, but I think the part  that hurts the most is, he's right.

I'm really  worried about my ability  to create a work of substance; fiction or non-fiction.  Fortunately, it appears my education remains intact, as is my capability for reasoning, and faith.  This includes my ability to edit, structure, and discern  crap from the good stuff. So much remains the same, or seems to be. And some  improvements  seem to have been made. Everything is slower, more deliberate.   Hopefully, this means I'll edit more, as I write.  I've forgotten how to walk; I've forgotten how  to type. I'm scared to try re-learning; it seems like such a massive/daunting task. But  necessary. DAMN IT.

I'm in danger of being a one-note Johnny, But here goes:  I think about suicide 24x7, 365 days a year. I'm just not happy, and  sooooo lonely.  I don't write anymore, for lot's of reasons.  I won't kill myself before Grendel and my Father  die.   I don't have many friends here.   I never have any money; in great part because of my iTunes addiction, but also because I never have any idea of how  much is in my account.   I don't need to be the "big spender from the East" but I'd like to be able to pay my own way.  It's just not right, that I don't.  And  treat, occasionally .

IF I hate  anything about my life post-bashing, it all ties into how passive I've let myself.  Before, I energetically happened to life. NOW: sadly, life happens to me. AND, I HATE IT.

Moreso than usual.  I just don't feel like the Trust is being managed to afford me any kind of quality life whatsoever.  Grendel keeps me from suicide, but he's all.

So far, I've failed miserably at making this a daily habit.  I've also been a lousy  Quaker, missing Meeting this week and last week.  My  official  excuse is:  it's  been too cold.  I've become such a whiny bitch, post-T.B.I.