It’s 11:48 p.m., and I’m knackered. This thing about Bill Cafeiro wanting Butch’s job has really thrown me for a loop. On the one hand, I think Butch wants to move on, but doesn’t see a clear, responsible exit strategy; this would give him one. On the other hand, Bill, and Kevin, have become 2 of my best friends in Philly; and I’m finding myself reticent, even loathe, to co-opt 1 more friend onto my recovery bandwagon.
OY. What to do, what to do?
I’ll sleep on it….
Again.
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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