Spent the morning talking with the Banker about what to do about my tiny, frail, adorable little nest egg. It’s not much, but it’s all I got and it’s the difference between living comfortably or under a bridge eating cat food. I cannot believe that I, Reinhard the Ridiculous, who seemed to do everything wrong with theater, men, and life actually has a stash. Gee, guys, I got the impression I was too annoying to survive, but here I am, wondering how much MAC a grand will buy. The computer, not 6 months of the makeup.
Chase Manhattan Bank is Satan, but that means it’s the King of Hell and stronger than most angels. If they use their evil to pay me, I can’t complain. I have pension and disability. My apartment costs a third of what it would cost in New York. My 22 year old car still runs but I could replace it with a Mercedes toy car in this crazy day and age. I would like to be pessimistic, but I can’t be, at least, about money.
I am pessimistic about the environment, about nuclear energy, about stupid, unwinnable wars and the disastrous effects banks like Chase have on the world. I worry about racism in politics disguised as patriotism. Yo! Rufus! The country will be 40 percent white in 20 years, you better not piss people off. And please, don’t push to shut down the government when you live off Social Security. Yes, you Idiot, YOU won’t get paid. DUH! There are too many guns and not enough teachers and the greatest horror of all...Chris Christie is my Governor!
And as the crazy woman above me goes into her 6th hour of her 14 hour walk back and forth across the living room which she does 7 days a week, I realize she’s about the only real problem have. I imagined everything else. I dramatized everything else. And most important, I don’t have to drag my ass into New York and back for 4 hours a day. We’ll make it do for now.