The Long Road Out

So strange. The trend of the last few days continues. I hate everyone! Just luck Donald. He's a twat. Maybe he's just lonely and depressed like me. I doubt he's going to improve soon, so I'm not optimistic about his future joy.

Really dark even though the sun is shining in my eyes as it rises over the eastern Sierra. Really dark. I don't want to continue. I dreamt I still owned my Chris Craft though I'd rented it to some fancy family. But I took it back for August and went for a trip in tropical waters completely alone. I was so happy to have my past back. Not being abused by anyone I knew. Just me and the water and my boat. I fell off a stool yesterday changing a light bulb. What a fucking idiot right?

That's a Dylan line. But it happened to me too and to all the others who suffer. My ignorant ex-wife torments me. The horror the horror in south Harlem. That's Conrad. She is not worth a penny. Take care of yourself own shit honey. Yesterday, fishing for your next round of cash, out of the blue, you opined that it was good we were talking without lawyers. Mina—you fucking ghosted me for years. As if this situation had something to do with me. As if I lawyered up. And not you, you sick fuck. You. Sick. Fuck. I can't express fully the evil I see in you. But I know your mom understood. And others. I would get a lobotomy if I knew it would exit the black soot you leave behind you.

The two of us were putrid. I don't know if I hate you or myself more. I'd definitely like to get even with you for your sociopathy. You hurt so many people. I'm in the top group but doubt I was your worst victim. You represent a group of man haters who are so blinded by the abuse they received from their fathers or the abuse their fathers dumped on their mothers—or are just plain sick muthafuckers. So you poison any one you can and reject everyone who sees you as a demon. Spin more bad false hurtful hateful narratives. Destroy your body with cortisol because that's your nectar. Cortisol is the fruit of what you've spewed into the world. It's far too late for you to redeem yourself. Probably for me too. Certainly for the others. I'd rather have a cocaine problem that a cortisol problem though it's a double race to the absolute bottom in both cases.

Next step in the 10 year process is splitting up our retirement funds. I deducted $300,000 from my 401k in 2021 to try to help my ex move to Montréal. She deposited $165,000 of our joint money in her private SEP without telling me. Whatever. She sucks but I really loved her. I assume this next round of "protecting women" experts know the same two things about me that every other moron Mina hired took for granted: that I'm a coke addict and a crossdresser. It's easy to behave unprofessionally when you've been fed this sewage by a woman who would know better if she weren't disabled. Again, ho-hum. I only hope these predators are competent. That would be a nice change after Vaccaland and Hrbekville and the comedy of errors that populated the last 10 steps. Imagine a world where women didn't need compromised tools like you to Pete t them from men like me! PS Lexington: you don't know me and you never will. But if you need blow a...

A friend of mine fell off the cocaine sobriety wagon for the second time in 39 years last week. I wonder how many people really stop to contemplate this personal disaster. Such a self-esteem buster. And I'm not talking about the drug. I'm talking about meeting your coked up self again. I do not believe people who have not experienced clinical depression, PTSD, or addiction are qualified to speak about these topics. They don't appear to understand how hurtful they are, and how irrelevant they sound. Of course the self-help types can't shut up. Their fuel is coaching. Coaches don't listen. They coach. Non-stop. A job for narcissists pure and simple. My ex-wife tried to coach. She used to have a line on her marketing website that said something like "let me share my passion with you." Don't know if that's still there. Not someone I'd go to in a medical emergency. Or in a clinical mental health crisis. Ironic...