then New Years, two events whose primary effect on my life, increasingly, has been to make me. realize how alone I really am.
This is nothing new, and to be perfectly honest, part. of me REALLY likes it. No other people to deal with, to walk on eggshells around. I think I just gave up this past year. I don't have dreams or aspirations anymore, really. And it's not the Trust's fault, or Butch's or anybodys; it's mine. I can at least accept that. And I know there are those of you who read these and worry about my past talk of suicide: WELL DON'T. I'm usually just venting, anyway. And Jaime is really good suicide-prevention; with her bathroom and stomach issues, it's me or the needle.
I choose, me. I think she does, too.
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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