Short before I received my PhD, my wife and I had to move from the apartment where we used to live. It was a small place, but it was located in a nice neighborhood. People was nice and respectful. They never had noisy parties late at night. They didn't listen up awful music at a very high volume. They didn't mistreat pets.
We had to move to a cheaper place 'cause our homemade was about to increase the rental and we wouldn't have enough money to pay it. My scholarship was about to finish, and we didn't want to acquire debts. Even when my advisor believed that I was not a truly productive guy -not to mention that he was convinced that I didn't have my own ideas-, all I wanted to do was to publish more papers than I needed it to get my degree, and so I ran out of time. I could focus on the writing of my doctoral thesis to obtain my degree as soon as possible, but I wanted to have more papers as first author.
(So far, I'm the only one of his graduates with the record of more papers published as first author -as a student, obviously-, in his lab).
Fortunately, my wife also had a job -then she worked in a maritime import and export company- and we survived for almost a year with our savings and her money.
From that time, when we moved here, I had to put up with my advisor and his crazy mood changes for almost half a year more.
He wanted me to stay in the lab endlessly, with a ridiculous salary.
It wasn't even the third part of the rental I had to pay month after month.
We moved in here, on August, 2013.
This apartment is located in a cheap neighborhood, just a miles away from the airport and one of the biggest avenues of the city. You can hear the planes crossing the sky all the time.
You are immerse in the horrendous city traffic all the time.
We live in the 5th floor. Since there are many factories near the building, heavy trucks circulate along the avenue all the time. When this happens, the building moves and it feels like if you were in the middle of a slight earthquake.
Sadly, you get used to all these issues.
Also, people is noisy and disrespectful in this neighborhood. They have noisy parties and they force you to listen to their loud music all the time. The rule seems to be that "adults" have at least a couple of kids, at least one car and at least one pet. The rule seems to be that they throw the trash in the street and that they mistreat all human beings. They behave like if the most important thing in the world was to reproduce and to have a car.
My wife got the apartment for us. She knew someone who used to live in this building.
One of my wife's friends is the owner.
Due to the terrible stress I had to deal with in the lab for almost my entire postgraduate studies -my advisor seemed to be a very gentle and a nice guy, but when I published my first paper he became aggressive and tried to humiliate me as much as he could-, I started to use drugs.
For almost three years, I used to smoke pot and tobacco and to drink alcohol, desperately.
I needed a maintenance dose of everything.
I used drugs in such an awful way, that I ended up with health problems.
Apart from that health issues, several times I developed psychosomatic dermatitis and I was about to have a nervous breakdown.
When my wife and I moved to this apartment, I was almost an alcoholic.
I drank and smoked on a daily basis, to the point I couldn't stop nor do anything else if I hadn't drank or smoked. I was tired and depressed all the time. I had some sort of purple haze within my brain, like that Jimmy Hendrix' song.
A few months after we arrived to this apartment, the owner of the apartment moved with us.
She lived with us for almost half a year. She's younger than my wife -she's the youngest of her friends- and she had a very close relationship to her parents.
She needed a place to live in 'cause her parents had moved away from the city and she just had been accepted to study in the School of Medicine. It was her second career.
All my life I have been a lonely guy and drug abuse had strengthened my need to be alone.
So, when that woman moved to live with us, it was a truly complicated situation to me.
(It was so complicated, that I couldn't even write in the entire period she lived with us. Not a single story, nor anything else. I even left my blogs).
Almost on a daily basis, her parents visit her in the apartment.
Sometimes, they even came to the apartment with her sister and her small son. Everyday was like a cozy Sunday breakfast.
The worst of all was that they -the entire family- never warned us -not to my wife, not to me- that they would go to the apartment. They simply did as they pleased.
I couldn't stop thinking that they just didn't care about me. I felt that I was invisible and that my opinion was useless, but -as it happened with all the annoying issues related to the neighborhood- I had to get used to it.
I had to adapt to their lifestyle.
(Wasn't it too abusive?)
After an ordinary day in the lab -then I had a pos doc position at Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana-, I got home, wanting to drink and to smoke, or wanting to write and to listen garage punk , or wanting to read a book in silence, or wanting to play the guitar, or wanting to watch porno -in resume, wanting to do all the things that I was used to do for almost 6 years, the time my wife and I were married and living together- but the apartment was, as I mentioned, some sort of a cozy Sunday breakfast.
My personal space was occupied.
My wife's friend settled in my studio, so I couldn't use it.
When she wasn't slept, she was talking in there with her sister and her mother.
They came precisely when my wife wasn't home.
Her father was watching TV in the living room. Even if I tried to focus on writing -and to avoid alcohol and tobacco, 'cause the small nephew of my wife's friend was running everywhere and I didn't feel free to use drugs-, her father insisted to talk to me.
(Apparently, he thought I was wasting my time on Facebook, or something like that.)
It was a truly complicated period to me.
Not just for these issues, but 'cause them never had seen me as an adult.
They don't even know, nor care about what I do -I suppose they think that I'm like a teacher in high school-, but they were always speaking of the father of the kid and all the amazing things he did in his job.
I still don't have kids nor a car, and apparently they think that both things make you an adult.
When I finally had a moment alone, I drank as crazy and I tried to write, or play music, in my studio. But my wife's friend was kind of distracted and dirty, and she used to left her underwear lying on the floor or on her bed.
If I was really high at that time, I couldn't stop having impure thoughts.
I had to quit writing and to left the studio immediately.
Her underwear put me really mad and furious.
Couldn't focus on anything else but her underwear.
My wife's friend left the apartment almost three years ago.
Obviously her family stopped making a Sunday breakfast on a daily basis in the apartment.
Drug abuse provoked me a gastric problem, to the point I had to have surgery.
I feel free, again.
I returned to my lonely habits -except that I don't drink nor smoke- and I stopped arguing with my wife.
(We had a lot of problems, when her friend's family used to come on a daily basis to the apartment).
Last night, out of nowhere, I had a weird dream.
I was at the University and suddenly my wife's friend appeared.
She dressed her classical lab coat of a student of the School of Medicine.
She smiled and then invited me to the movie theatre.
I asked here if I could invite my wife, too.
She said "No" 'cause she didn't want to worry her.
Even though I thought she was flirting, I accepted.
When we were about to watch the movie, she stared at me.
We were sitting next to each other, almost in front of the screen.
The flashes on the screen illuminated my wife's friend's face.
Her lips were so fleshy and her eyes were possessed by desire.
I thought she was about to kiss me, but she just put one of her legs around one of mine.
The touch drove me wild. It was like an electric trim.
Her leg was warm and it made me feel so excited and guilty.
I woke up.
Dunno why, but I remember my wife's friend each time I hear one song of Clics Modernos.
I'm almost able to see her dancing while the music elapses.
Mainly with the first chords of the song.
This is the song:
Nos Siguen Pegando Abajo
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