you see, the therapist said i mustn't keep chipping at teh past, or even the future, like this. avoid the bad thoughts, avoid your blog, she said, after reading it, it's a bad place for you. i though tof selling my house and going to tibet or thailand and living on a beach (on on the side of a mountain, if it were tibet, obviously) but then the fucking recession is here, isn't it? so i'll keep the house, thanks.

teh silver lining was my mother, one morning, whilst slurring her way through last nights hangover or this morning's gin admitted that, although he had spoken to her and demanded she do it, she never actually changed her will, and if she "were to die tomorrow" she said, while tottering to fridge to drop some eggs on the floor, i'd get all that was my "due".

needless to say she didn't recall this later, and further needlessly i say i didn't inform my brother that i knew he was a living sham. perhaps he himself didn't know that she hadn't changed the will. perhaps she lied to him? i don't know. recently it's been moot anyway, i was in rehab, then therapy and i didn't feel like any hedonism, i didn't feel like anything. i was trying to recall the last time i'd ejaculated, never mind fucked, and the last time a sweet, soft, peaty scotch had passed my lips.

so, rather more needlessly i say, i got out of that. therapy and pills haven't made me happy, in fact the only thing that was making me happy was my unhappiness. it was a state of existence at least, unlike that bready limbo i was chewing on, bready, prosaically prozac, prescribed psuedo-wellbein. NEEDLESS to say i went out and got riotusly fucked up. wanna hear all about it? prehaps i'll tell. anyone at oxygen? see that pale naked guy being chased out of a tree by teh security. yeah. well.