God give me the strength to lead a double life.

Of course I lead one already, but without the payoff. I was probably fibbing in the womb. And I think of Thom at six months and how even then he could smile sometimes, just for my sake. I wonder if deception is as natural as the air we breath. In fact, sometimes when I'm alone it seems as if every breath is an attempt to hide, or deny the existence of a previous breath.

Of course I could take all this to my supervision with Buckley next month. Only thing, he is fifteen years younger and a career Freudian with no humour or nuance whatever. My questions would be more interesting than his answers and the whole shabby thing would leave us both tainted with self -disgust. How careful he is to avoid any suggestion of undermining, or oedipal overcoming as he sits there in his green, immaculately pressed cords. I yearn to free him up and offer my face for a good slapping.

Buckley? He is no nemesis. As the Russians knew, choose your enemy well for you will become him. And on that note, I promise to be kinder to Gareth.

R. tomorrow