As I handle my latest rejection it feels cold and heavy, yet it burns. I guess you can get burned by dry ice so that makes sense. As I pass it back and forth from hand to hand to hand (I have three: the left hand, the right hand, and the “on the other hand” hand), it feels oddly familiar, like so many other rejections. The pain is familiar. The color is bleak. No Titanium (smiley face) Yellow for rejection. I guess rejection, no matter the source, feels cold and heavy. And pouty. I am totally pouting and I am really good at it. It’s a talent I suppose. I have so many, it almost seems unfair. I am writing country songs in my head about, “Your rejecting heart”, and, “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I got rejected” and I could reword the whole list of the worst country song titles to fit my descent into reject despair. Although my feet don’t really stink. Although my head does hurt and I did get rejected.
Speaking of songs, as I write this, that Amy Winehouse song, “Rehab” is playing in the background but in my head the lyrics sound like, “They tried to make me go to rejecthab but I said, No, no, no…” and so I resolve to pout for 15 more minutes and then get back on the grant wagon.
My next grant rejection isn’t due till May 15 and the rejection after that is due June 15 so there are gaps in between scheduled rejections to be all happy and smiley, only to be filled with country songs and pouting on all the 15ths. See how the number 15 keeps coming up? I guess that’s my unlucky number. I will wallow in 15 foot limpid pools of wallowing. Then, rather than go to rejecthab, I will climb out, tired, poor, yearning to be awarded.
Meanwhile, in order to have more rejections to put on my calendar, and to make me feel all lofty and anticipatory, I will send out more grant applications. I will try to find only ones that notify you on the 15th of some month. Today is the 10th and I got this rejection letter today but on some Mayan or Maori or other calendar somewhere I just know it is the 15th. And it is an M calendar because Mo starts with M.
Thinking of grant winners and losers makes me inevitably think, let’s have a show of rejected artists! Like, how the MCC sponsors a show of grant winners, let’s have a show of grant losers!
Funny, I should mention that: in my last post I said, “Let’s have a show about non-coverage of the arts!” and my big mouth got me put in charge of that show. Secretly I am thrilled to be organizing that show, but it is not cool to be so openly thrilled about such things. It is far cooler to pretend to be blase. How do I balance faux blaseity with my inherent neurosity? Who do I talk to about this? Shit. Life is hard.