Winter 2022 In Dance

The Grant You Wish You Could Write by MIGUEL GUTIERREZ

H i I’m spending over a hundred hours of unpaid time to hope- fully make it into the three percent of people who actually get funded by your organization. This narrative, or, “the fucking Grant I have to write,” as I’ve come to call it to my friends, my family or any random idiot who I hijack into conversation about it, may come off a little disjointed. That’s probably because I worked on it after rehearsal, exhausted, or on the subway as I headed to rehearsal, or during the afternoon I did this instead of rehearsal, or on a weekend night while looking out the window with all the longing of a melancholic woman in an 18th century British novel watching all the carefree 9 to 5’ers cavort through another fun-filled weekend. My piece, um yeah, so my piece. I really don’t fucking know what it’s about or what it will look like. Probably it’s about how fucked up the world is and how I can’t really afford to live in it and how I still can’t believe that my ex

ended up with that guy and now I stalk him on Instagram or how my parents just never really got me and my dad slowly died over the course of ten years while my mom’s world got tinier and tinier cuz Medicaid sucks and no it doesn’t matter if you were an immigrant and worked your ass your whole life to raise two kids and gave them an education you still end up watching your husband shit in diapers while you fight on the phone with some bitch who says she doesn’t understand what you’re saying


in dance WINTER 2022 22

WINTER 2022 in dance 23




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In Dance | May 2014 |

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