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.
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
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