Last night I was reduced to physical violence in my dreams (yes, I know) as I was snubbed by having my work yet again interfered with. Much of my frustration is a living embodiment of that old Jewish joke, "this food's terrible - and such small portions". Prostitution has life bang to rights - If you're not going to be respected at least get paid for it. Outside of this virtual cornucopia Dr Nostrum has suffered the fate of that downtrodden soul, the 'award winning' songwriter, been cursed to suffer 'critical success' as a Theatrical lyricist, been utterly ruined as a 'gifted' (that should probably be 'fetid') fine artist. All of these having in common those many fine reward's, none of which are money. Still, money's overrated - you can't eat it. (it can however keep you warm if you burn it or stuff it down your trousers - I feel this may be of some use to the irretrievably rich in years to come, but of less use to the rest of us)
"How much is enough?" is my inner refrain. I feel the answer is: "It's never enough until you realise you don't care anymore. Then you know have too much." I often care deeply about not being sure I care. I have also cared so deeply I was sure I required care (how strange to career wildly about for 6 years - "he careered from career to career"). However, I am now a few years older (and thus of course, beginning to thing I may in fact slip into becoming a bore - far, far worse than being a cunt)
My dear cousin gracefully said to me "I've never seen you get angry about anything, you have a great equanimity about you."
"Yes," I replied, "either that or I just don't give a shit about anything."