Í just don’t know what to do with myself. Apologies to Tom Jones, everyone, as much planning as I put into my recovery, I thought f-ck all what I would do when recovery ceased being nay primary goal in life.v Being in a wheelchair doesn’t define me; nor do a host of obvious descriptors: writer, Quaker, bon vivant, idealist, gay, drunk raconteur.
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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