The vet says he might’ve been born with it. I found this out yesterday, and it pretty much sent me into a fierce tailspin emotionally. It’s compounding my suicidal impuses. Honestly, I don’t know how, or if, I’ll survive his passing. He’s the only one who’s actively loves me, or regularly shows me any physical signs of affection. And science has shown, we only thrive as human beings, when we have regular, emotional, physical contact with others.
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.