6:30 in the AM on Thanksgiving. Starting work. It will be a long day of work, exercising, more work, composing. I was not invited anywhere for the holiday. Even with people knowing my situation. I know a lot of bad people, truly bad people, frankly. I think that's most people. I think what happens is you're a bad person too, and you blend in, and it's one thing to have just another bad person along. A good person is different. We are more apt to turn our back to them. And a strong, good person? Even easier. People take advantage of my kindness and generosity. How much I do for them. Despite where my life is at. Not even Emma and her family invited me. So, I have made a choice. I am done with that family. They are not good people. They are selfish and manipulative, and they have used me. I have done so much for them. I am the reason the lawsuit was dropped against them, because of the letter I wrote, when they got the dog. I literally feed their child. Who goes to school with nothing to eat each day. I have given so much of my time, my energy, my money, to help that family. With what I have going in in my life, and my financial realities at present, and these people certainly know the hell I am in, the battle I face, every day, I have mentored this child, I have been there constantly for her, with the anxiety, the depression, I have helped the parents, and I have also kept quiet about a number of things that are shocking and egregious, as I have tried to make them right, without being detected. The child not having medications she badly needs, for instance. So, enough. A friend yesterday was rip shit over all of this, was saying that I should read some people and family the riot act, that it was sick, it was abusive, and of course it is, but I responded to him by saying what then? Do that with everyone who is treating me a certain way and what is the fallout? Because there will be no one left. I will know next to no one. It's not good. I am blackballed by an entire industry, I am hated and feared by that entire industry, I spend my days when I am not creating masterpieces writing letters to evil bigots to maybe be less bigoted in this dying industry of theirs. And I fight not to kill myself. Which means, I get better at what I do, and the fear, hate, and envy, worsens. And people know that. Some of them live thirty feet away. And they will take everything and anything I do for them, but they won't so much as make sure I have a place to go on Thanksgiving. My family, I pretty much expect it. And then you just feel awful. You feel so unlikable. Not because you're a bad person, but because you aren't. Not because you're a moron, but because you are the complete antithesis. And it's not like I can become horrible or not a genius, which is a lacking, limited term anyway. But. Sitting here, puling in the dark, in this hell-sty, is not going to help matters. Stay with me. Don't kill yourself today, dude. Put away the fucking train schedule, stand on no tracks. Let's make some art. Jesus fucking Christ this is hard. And Norberg? What the fuck? All of these years, and you knowing better than anyone. And you couldn't ever even make a phone call or respond to an email? People are beastly.