any diagnosis will do

I need money.

It’s a Zen statement. The sky is blue. Birds fly. Rivers are long. I need money.

On a very arduous walk yesterday afternoon, the purpose of which, beyond the joy and goodness of righteous exercise, was hopefully sweep decades of cobwebs out from my mind, the thought came to me that perhaps I should apply for a grant to the National Institute of Mental Health – what we in the biz call the NIMH – with the promise to do exhaustive studies on the contents of my mind – with and without cobwebs. How a boy whose birth certificate numbers say “Senior”, whose suffix says “Junior”, and whose day in and day out behaviors demonstrate quite clearly, “Immature”, “Juvenile”, and “Goofy” – how’s that happen. I imagine those who read grant requests and decide who gets the big “Yes” will be thrilled to read mine. Oh, they’ll likely think, such advancement in the studies of what the DSM-IV might group within the section on “wicked disorders”, a chance with a living specimen, allowed in as guests to witness the tick-tocking of that mind. Oh, they’ll likely think, what a stupendous leap into the future of understanding, well, how that happens.

See. I’m always happy to do my part to help the planet, and while the thinking is I’ll apply for 500K, I’ll probably be able to get the job done for half that. Preferably in cash. (Between you and me, eight grand should do the trick.)

It’s where my walking took me yesterday. Deep into cobweb city.

Winston H. Cushman Jr.