Seeking a Grant

Wild raspberry juice in my vodka is providing me with the most inspiring shade of red. I’m living comfortably towards my next paycheck and I’m sitting here looking to mess it all up. Somehow, I strongly desire messing it all up. Wouldn’t that be great? I’ve cleaned up my act and all I want to do is mess it all up again. Don’t you ever just get sick of your own skin? Don’t you ever just want to mess it all up and start all over again? Wipe it all away with one manic swipe of the hand and start over? I just want to contribute to the growing pile of frustration that is collecting in the corner of my living room. Can’t I just get paid for that? What price is a continued pattern of frustration worth? What if I was willing to explore a lifetime’s worth of frustration? Just for the sake of knowing? Wouldn’t that be an incredibly worthwhile document to own? I am willing to be a growing pile of frustration in the corner of my own living room for the duration of my lifetime and I can’t get anyone to fund that kind of endeavor. Couldn’t some rich guy smugly claim with pride that he was funding some nutsack (me) to sit at home and capture a continued pattern of frustration at his own expense? Isn’t there some valuable peace of mind found within such an investment? He could then say, “Yeah, I’m never frustrated by anything because I’m paying this poor bastard to burden any and all frustrations for me. I mean, there I was, about to have a frustrating experience when I realized, ‘Hey, that’s what I pay Greg for.’” (Excerpted and abridged from my next next book, The Idiot Parade.)