Echoes Screaming Through My Empty Soul

It was some sort of enormous mall. 
We were having a seminar in an improvised living room who apparently was part of a furniture store.
People with bags, shopping like crazy, walked around us, as one of my colleagues spoke. 
He was angry 'cause one of his pupils hadn't done what he had asked her for.  

Ivy smiled. 
She was so relaxed. 
Despite the fact that she had disappeared for several months -my colleague was her advisor- and that she had no data to show nor thesis advances', it didn't look she was worried at all. 

An idea crossed my mind. 
I wanted to test a hypothesis and I thought it would be convenient to put her to perform some of my experiments. 
I thought we could employ a model of morbid obesity in which I'm working on and a protocol to measure sexual receptivity in females. 
My colleague seemed to be an expert on this topic.  

I told to Ivy so and she agreed, but my colleague rejected my idea.  
He thought the experiment would be meaningless. 
He also thought Ivy would disappear for several months, again.
It looked like I was on Ivy's side. 

Ivy and I walked away, like if we were closer friends and like if we were used to guess the movements of the other. 

People were still shopping frantically. 

We crossed the entire mall in complete silence.

It seemed that we were more than closer friends 'cause we were able to keep our mouths shut for longer periods of time. 

Suddenly we were inside of a Van.
We were sitting next to each other. 
I was on the side of a window. 
The sun rays reflected on my face and blinded me, temporarily. 
I felt dizzy and dumb. 

As I was regaining my sight, Ivy started to sigh.
Obviously, she was doing so 'cause she wanted me to look at her. 

She was so close to me. 
She looked so in love with me. 
She looked so fragile and sexy. 

Out of nowhere, she asked me if I felt the same way she felt about me. 
I was so surprised and I kept my mouth shut.

We had a relationship?
We had a long time having this kind of moments? 

Though it was an awkward moment, I felt relieved. 

It was some sort of electricity in the air. 
I think I could even smell the scent of Ivy's skin. 
Sun rays became a plus and turned out the environment to a romantic scene. 

I watched Ivy's face and hair, and accepted that she was beautiful.  

She put her head down on my knees and I automatically started to caressing her hair. 

In a pretty tough way to explain it, I could see her naked breast.

She wore a white Bikini Kill shirt, one with the cover of The Singles album released on 1998. Immediately it reminded me of Toby Vail. 

As Ivy looked at me and tried to make contact with one of my hands, the electricity in the air became extremely volatile. 

She asked me again if I felt the same way she felt about me.

I briefly thought of her breast and then I saw one of her nipples. 

Her breast was so big and her nipple was so erect that somehow it reminded me of the texture and taste of some desserts that she prepared and sold when I really met her. 

Finally, I thought that I would have a lot of fun if I accepted that I found her pretty attractive and if I made her believe that I felt the same way she felt about me. 

I woke up starved. 

I wanted so bad to have a dessert. 

Echoes Screaming Through My Empty Soul

The Deafening Sound Of A Heartbeat

I had a bad night. 
I felt pretty cozy and suffocated when I woke up from a fuzzy dream. 

A few years ago, one of my colleagues introduced me to this researcher I dreamed of.

It was my second year as postdoc, when he did it.
Maybe we went to her lab to ask her for some kind of technical help. 

Even though senior researchers mainly look at postdocs as a workforce, or consider us some sort of shy and low self esteem human beings, she was very polite with me.

Of way contrary to most older researchers who ignore us when we're not with another senior researcher, she was educated with me even if I was alone, anywhere, at anytime. 
  

Since then, she has always been polite with me. 

The first time I saw her, I found her pretty feminine. 
She wore a multicolor blouse and jeans. 
She spoke to us with a pretty soft voice. Her black curly hair spread on the air. 
It made me think that she cared about her appearance, but in a pretty delicate way.   

In my dream, we were in a middle of a class.

Suddenly, she said she needed to talk to me in private. 
It surprised me. She looked sort of angst. 

Then, we walked out of the classroom and sit at some sort of wooden chairs painted in pink.
We were pretty closer. So close that I was able to look at the freckles on her face. 
Her eyes were so brown and her eyelashes were so long. 
I felt intimidated by her beauty.  

Suddenly, to broke with the enchantment, I looked at her legs.
They were so white.
One leg was without hair removal and the other was depilated. 
The depilated leg was naked. 

I couldn't avoid it. I had a sexual thought, but I chased it away.
Dunno why, but I felt so guilty. 

She spoke to me.
She said something I cannot remember. 
Maybe it was something about a comment I posted on her Facebook that she didn't like. 

Then she stood up and walked away. 

As she walked, I could see that the white skirt she wore was opened at the back, so I could see her underwear. 

Again, I felt guilty and looked away. 
Then I woke up, feeling febrile.

The Deafening Sound Of A Heartbeat

Now My Mind Must Go On Holiday

Six years ago, I was about to have my first published paper as a first author. 

Even though I was so enthusiastic for what it meant for me, if I think about it, I really did not enjoy my life at all. 

I was so stressed and focused on my research project, working for a minimum of ten hours, almost on a daily basis, that I got drunk on weekends to deal with stress. 

I smoked tobacco and ate unhealthy food. 
The only physical activity I practiced was to play soccer on Saturdays.  

I demanded too much from my heart.

At the lab, I attended to seminars each Monday. 
They were divided in two categories. 
On the morning, we had a Journal Club. 
The second was meant to be a progress seminar and it started at lunch time and ended almost at 9:00 p.m.

At that time, they were several lazy and irresponsible students in the lab.
Frequently, they did not appear on Mondays and they did not perform experiments. They pissed off my advisor and the seminars became a nightmare.

No matter what, these seminars were never suspended -except for a couple weeks on summer and Christmas holidays. 

Outside the lab, I attended to seminars each Wednesday. 

They were organized on a Clinical of Addictive Disorders and they were basically for physicians, psychologists and therapists.
These seminars were taught in the same way students teach a class, when they have to expose: thousands of slides with statements that everybody could read.   

They were mainly a waste of time. 

I was also an asignature professor at the School of Psychology, four to six hours per week. 

As a PhD student, I attended to a class which I really thought it was a waste of time.
Also, I performed experiments, sleep recordings, stereotaxic surgeries, statistical analyses and things like that.

Six years ago, Mark Lanegan came to Mexico City.
He and his band were touring Blues Funeral and they gave a show on April 9th, 2012. 

Though I knew a little bit Mark Lanegan's solo career, I would have loved to go to his show.

I had heard several albums of Screaming Trees.
I believe that I just had bought Blues Funeral. 
I missed his show. 

I was so focused on my research project, that I heard about Mark Lanegan's show almost a year later, when Soundgarden came to Mexico City for the first time. 

I felt so stupid. 

Now, I have several papers as first author and things have changed a lot.

A few days earlier, it was accepted my first paper as corresponding author.

Through the revision process, referees made appropriate comments that improved the quality of the manuscript.

Referees did not criticize the English, not even suggested to change a single word.

Simultaneously, it is so satisfying and frustrating.

To be a corresponding author means a lot on my field.
To be Spanish-native and to be able to write by yourself your first corresponding author paper in English should mean a lot, too.

Even though it is supposed that it is a basic skill among Spanish-native researchers (science is English-written), it is not as common as it should be.

Sadly, no one of my current colleagues knows that I have written all the papers that I have published so far as a first author.

(Blame it on my advisor.)

I don't even know if my current colleagues know that I had four papers as first author when I started to work with them.

It's pretty normal, but it's so frustrating.

I must start from scratch, as if in my previous papers, I could barely write in English.
This is so damn irritating.

(Well, in a way, this blog supports my point).

Now, I enjoy my life more than I did six years ago.

Anna Hanks from Austin, Texas, USA (16 March 2011, 14:35)

I have a lot of free time.

I employ it for writing personal stuff.
I even finished a novel with which I participated on Premio Mauricio Achar 2018.

I employ it for reading several pieces of information, literature and music.
I write about these things on my blogs.

I employ my free time for playing electric guitar.
I have three guitars -a Squier Stratocaster, a Gibson SG and another cheaper one-, and I also bought a couple of amplifiers, microphones and several guitar pedals.

I play songs I like -I never learn a song just because- and I even have composed some silly songs. I don't know if someday I will have the opportunity to record them.

I employ my free time for listening music.
That's how I discovered several artists I hadn't heard, like Kurt Vile, Courtney Barnett, Cloud Nothings...

(I have a small fortune on books, CDs, cassettes and vinyls.
I could have bought a car, instead of having these small treasures).

Nowadays, I barely drink alcohol or eat unhealthy food.

I quit smoking three years ago, I had surgery two years ago...

And Mark Lanegan came back to give a show.

Unlike six years ago, I know a lot more his solo career.

Among several of his songs and collaborations, I have heard The Winding Sheet, Bubblegum, Blues Funeral and Gargoyle...

After the show, I even shook hands with him and I got he signed me a copy of Uncle Anesthesia.

This time he was accompanied by Shelley Brien on keyboards and Jeff Fielder on guitar. They were touring Gargoyle, his tenth LP and fourth in five years.

(It was an awesome show.
Eventually, when I feel less darker and negative, I will post about it.)

No matter what, sometimes I still feel invisible, like I did six years ago.

Now My Mind Must Go on Holiday