Watermarks On The Ceiling

Two years ago, I was so skinny.
For almost one year I had had an awful life. 
I had spent a bunch of money on gastroenterologists and drugs to alleviate the symptoms of reflux. Though, besides following the physicians' orders, I changed my diet and quit smoking and drinking alcohol, I felt terrible. 
My diet consisted of eating the very same food on a daily basis –a lot of regular food made me sick– and it was awful, too. 

Try to eat the same things for a month and tell me how does it feel.

I lost my appetite. 

Nonetheless, I had this opportunity to get an interview for a tenure track position at one University outside the city. 

I prepared a short talk about my research and future directions. 

It was a very cold and dry day. 

In the interview, there were three colleagues. 
One of them was a young scientist who I knew from a radio show in which I was interviewing her. Other one was a young researcher interested on the social value of food and its impact on consumer's choices. The experienced one was interested on aging and oxidative stress. He also knew my advisor from a collaboration. 

When I finished, they asked me what would I do if I got the position. 
I told them that I wanted to extend my model to study another physiological processes than the one it was developed for.

One of them wasn't sure about my murine model. She thought that my model wasn't really resembling a human phenomenon. I told her that it wasn't meant to resemble childhood obesity, but the impact of postnatal overnutrition on the hypothalamus and she agreed. 

Though I felt so comfortable and so confident about getting the tenure track position, my colleagues decided to favored another researcher -never knew who he/she was- and the most experienced of them told me so via an e-mail a few days later. 

When I came back to the city, I felt so sick. 
Started to snooze and to cough, and to feel annoyed and tired. 
I got the flu and it lasted for almost three weeks. 
It was so awful 'cause I had been sick a month ago. 

In eight days I will have another interview with the same colleagues. 

Wonder if it will be the same. 

Will it really make sense? 
Will I be favored by their decision this time?
Will the interview be just a deception? 

They say it can't rain all the time, but I'm getting used to be rejected.  
As I hear this song, I remember how enthusiastic I was the first time I went to this interview. 
Though I was so ill and about to have a surgery to end up with the reflux, I had the idea that I finally would find a tenure track position. 

The profile these researchers were looking for was my profile. 
As I hear this song, I feel ill, disappointed and mainly focus on failure.  

Kim's Caravan by Courtney Barnett