Rob-world

Butch took me to and from a relatively successful day at the eye Dr’s at Penn. I found Ciaran’s emergency medicine practice in Jersey. It’s nice to know he’s all right. I don’t begrudge him moving on, soitanly, and he’s always been this way:  obsessed with the new at the expense of the old. So, I’m not surprised at all by this. Disappointed, annoyed, and hurt now and then, sure; but surprised? No. I’m just glad he’s all right.

...just feel like my Trustee's and I are creating an increasing, ultimately violent end to my life and work. My Trustee's seem pre-occupied with saving me money , at the expense of my quality of life. FINALLY, I feel they've come around to learning my mac is, and has been, my primary recovery tool; and as such, it has and will need frequent and costly, repairs. Ugh. time for bed. I'll come back to this, tomorrow.

Went to Meeting. Got the dets on Carol Spawn’s memorial  service.  Started thinking about the track of my life.

& lonely.  SO FUCKING LONELY.  It’s been this way for years, so many, that I’m finally all right with moaning about it.  I’ve stopped worrying, and basing my commentary on what people who love me might find hard to hear.  Almost to a man, those who DO care about me say they’d rather hear me honestly.   So, here goes:  I have many Friends, but few friends here, in Philadelphia. More tomorrow; I’m so damn tired, from my constant depression over my heavily winnowed life.

Staying up late to write; napping in the afternoon.  I’m remembering, consciously, what has  probably been my driving force, all along: I like, nay, LOVE being me.  I daresay, I LOVE being me. & I LOVE the way Ciaran and the Quakers, and, indeed, Scott; let me return on my schedule, and did not allow an artificial recovery to usurp the priority of the slower, more natural and hopefully permanent, recovery I’m presently enjoying.  I’m railing against my almost natural tendency, for me, to jump 8 steps ahead. For the first time, in well over a decade; I’m back, bitches. Fasten your seatbelt, it’s gonna be a bumpy night. Not really. I like to think, I am, at heart, a basically decent person.

Which is something of a vicious circle,  as then I’m depressed all week because I didn’t go to Meeting.  Primarily, I’m depressed over the way Butch treats me; un-doing all my hard won markers of progress in his rush toward his convenience, by doing my shopping, collecting my bank statements, etc.  Butch, treats me like crap by forgetting, in their actions that my recovery is an on-going process, that if I’m not making recovery progress, they’re NOT doing their job.  I think, taking a hands off approach to my recovery and assuming people took an interest for personal, political, and PAID reasons, somehow fostered the perception that I was less than interested in running my life, down to overseeing the minutae divorced me from sharing in the responsibilities for my recovery, or lack thereof.  NO. It pains me somewhat to think that people may be offended by the further assertion of my independence.  In a way, I see it as the kind of evolution; not “you’re not needed”; but instead ”loo...

Same reason as always:  too  tired.  Too depressed.  I don’t have any control over the direction of my life.  That, not the ability to walk, is my greatest loss from 1/31/99.

Is a song I just heard on tonight’s Tony Awards; fell in love with, and bought on iTunes.  I admit, I’m a weird. guy .  But I REALLY  MISS the man I was becoming in Ireland.   Confident, and eager to test and find the limits of my talent.  Wanting to test then the limits of my talent; surrounding myself with writers who stoked my aspiration, challenging me to raise the calibre of my work, by simply and all-friendly like, competing with me for an un-said chalice of capability. They probably never knew I was competing, silently, but I did. Hey, I’m an American.  It’s what we do.

As I’ve no doubt said before, Morris was about to put her down when I adopted her.  She came from a house with little kids and a couple dogs, she had developed nervous diarrhea and nervous tremors, and was skittish as hell. She’s much better now, and we’re both much happier, lately. She’s my primary reason for living, especially when my frustration with the Trust’s hindering my life and recovery is as prevalent, frustrating and inexplicable as it is now, and has been.