I Cannot Remember My Own Sanity

I hate myself, I cannot control myself. I like alcohol. I like to smoke. I like women. I can't help it. I'm a monster. I'm just a liar when I keep myself out of trouble, when I tell you “I ran 6 kms today, I drank water, I avoid junk food on a daily basis”. 

When I drink alcohol, I become a monster, and I forget everything, and I say silly things, and I insult people, and I become an animal. You should keep out of my way. 

I cannot stop thinking about this song of The Vines, and flashbacks of the last Thursday appear out of nowhere, and I'm paranoid. I try to focus on my own thoughts, but I feel someone's spying on me. I also feel nauseating and dumb, and I think of Jack Kerouac and the guy I was before I met my wife, and I feel guilty –I'm just an animal–, and another flashbacks appear and I barely remember what I wanted to do when I was totally drunk, and all that I could have done if my wife hadn't been there to take care of me. 

I'm a monster. Never invite me to drink wine.

This Is The Real Thing

I thought we were friends, and now I see that it was more a fantasy than a real thing. I met you a decade ago, or so, and we kept in touch for so many time on Facebook –I don't even remember when was the last time I saw you, but it was probably around 2008, when I got married–, and a few months ago I even tried to make a deal with you –a podcast–, but you said that you were pretty busy –at that time I worked on awful conditions, teaching classes from 1 pm to 6 pm on a daily basis, among other duties– and I just found it arrogant. 

You have changed, you have became so radical. You confirmed the stereotype I have about writers: they act like if their readers –the rest of the world– are the dumbest humans on Earth. The writers I talk about don't care about nothing but themselves. 

So disappointing.

they keep calling me

i'm drunk. i would like to say that i don't think about you, but i do. i remember your voice, your face, your blonde hair, your hands, your opinions in class. 

instagram has told me that you are still alive. instagram has reminded me of you. and now i am listening to nine inch nails, an old album, and this song makes me feel like i am 25 yrs old.

Oh, The Guilt

It is raining. It is the middle of the summer. It is Friday. I'm about to pee. I'm about to log into a Zoom conference. I'm about to focus on a scientific paper. I'm about to fall asleep. I think I could do anything. I think I could do nothing. All Friday afternoons seem to be electrical. Even if it is not raining. Friday afternoon are noisy and relaxing. A paradox. This Friday afternoon in particular reminds me of all those Friday afternoons when I was in High school. This Friday afternoon makes me wonder why did I waste my time for several years. All I did was moan and cry, to think about girls, to write about girls, to feel guilty. 

Today I ran 5 km, I went to the university, I had two meetings with two pupils –I'm their advisor–, I gave my vote to a candidate in the Department of Health Sciences and then I spoke in a less formally way with another couple of students. I was listening to Pearl Jam and waiting for my Uber, when the first appeared out of nowhere and then asked me for an advice. Then the second one, appeared later and asked me if it is true that I will not longer continue in the university. She said she liked my classes.

I know I will get drunk in a few hours. I will forget everything and I'll feel guilty. And sick. And annoyed. And frustrated. 

Veronica was yet your associate when I arrived to your lab. In the very first New Year's dinner I attended to, she got sort of drunk and someone in the dinner said that she and me got stuck in an experiment needed to baptize me or something like that. she used to get drunk in every occasion she could.  It was so traumatic to meet you that I still dream of you. Six years ago I still depended on you. In my dream you were so fragile, so dumb, so vulnerable. You wanted me to work for you. We were at your office. You said “You just need to do what I ask you to do”. Your associate wore a pretty short skirt and a blouse so   

20may22 7 am

Strange Days Have Tracked Us Down

I dreamed of you weeks ago. It was a sunny day. It was hot. You wore a blouse and a skirt. The heat was melting me and I thought that it would be awesome to wear skirt sometimes, like Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain did in the 90's. We had a meeting in a classroom and we were so closed together. Behind your mask, I could perceive your smile. It shined like a gigantic free spirit. The light of the classroom also made you look like an older woman and covered your face with freckles. Your ear rings also shined. They moved along your face as you spoke and smiled behind your mask. 

As we spoke about nothing, I did not want to focus on your legs, but it was almost an impossible mission. I sensed them with all my skin senses, like a warm touch in the eyes, like a colorful cut in the retinas. You know, some of the photos you share on Facebook in real life, in which you wear skirts also, are almost impossible to ignore. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs since I was a kid. When I first felt attracted to women, legs were like a crazy magnet. And since then I'm such an animal and an idiot. I don't want to be misunderstood: I respect women, I admire women and I think women are the most valuable living being on Earth. 

Dunno why I cannot control myself. Am I ill? 

In your photos you look like an innocent mom, you look so happy with your baby daughter, you look so happy with your husband. And it just seems you're so real. And I really like the way you are with your family and with your friends. I haven't ever seen you mad or angst. It is so admirable. 

In the dream, it was also almost an impossible mission to ignore your legs. And, as I write these lines, I truly feel bad about it. I know I am just an animal. No matter how much gray matter do I have, no matter how much I try to use my brain: I am a simple man with simple ideas and simple wishes... and dark thoughts. This photo I had seen on your Facebook in real life, had suddenly appeared in another dream and then inside another dream, and so when I had this dream I write about it, I was suddenly scared of the intensity and the power of an image unconsciously trapped in my mind. I wasn't aware of the photo, until I dreamed of it for the first time. And it left me dumbfounded and thinking of your legs. 

Everything was so intense in the dream. Suddenly you shined like a gigantic raising sun. When I picked up the pieces in which your legs were the main character of all of my dreams, I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend. We were in junior high school and she was younger than me. We met under strange conditions and there were rumors about her cheating on me, but I just kind of believed she was innocent and I accepted it. She sort of hypnotized me. She was so seductive and played to be innocent. 

As I write these lines, my cats are running like wild horses and they ask me to feed them. They made me feel that this is stupid. They sort of tell me “Hey, man, stop writing non sense things about your dreams; come on, wake up and feed us!” But I need to write. Nowadays it is a bit difficult to have some kind of inspiration and time to write. I am studying and teaching and working on bureaucratic stuff all the time. 

So in my dream I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend and it was a perfect excuse to look briefly to your legs. Immediately, as I took a look, like a deep breath before diving in, I felt irradiated by the energy of your legs and I felt I was a stupid hypnotized animal. And so here I am again. I dreamed of you again. As I wake up I realized we were closed together again. And that you sort of hypnotized me and made me realized you felt the same way I feel about your legs. And you made me realized you knew how I felt about your legs. In this recurrent dream you wear a blouse and a skirt and you smile and your smile shines like a gigantic free spirit, like a wild horse. And my heart is so crazy about it and I sense everything is possible. It is scary. It is a nightmare. And I feel bad about it. I am a stupid hypnotized animal. I feel guilty. I cannot control my dreams. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs. I'm such an animal and an idiot. Dunno why I cannot control myself. 

You Only Live Once

On this period of my life, I don't like to work on weekends. I used to do it when I was an undergraduate student, when I was a postgraduate student and when I was a posdoc. Then, I enjoyed it and I felt productive and I was passionate about my work. As time passes by, as I am always on the tightrope, as I get older, working on weekends is a dead end. Passion sort of vanishes with uncertainty. 

Sometimes, like today, I find it annoying and unnecessary. As I was jogging earlier in the morning, sort of waking up to this Saturday, with my eyes sort of closed to the shining sun, with my ears listening to Mark Lanegan's voice, I tried to not think about working on weekend, but, as I ran and ran and got exhausted and my mouth went dry, all my thoughts focused on the things I have to do today. 

Perhaps, my reluctance to work today has to do with the fact that I am in a bad mood. I will have to work on a review paper. I started to writing it by myself about half a year ago. Then, in December, in holidays, I finished and I sent it to the Principal Investigators I work with. It was really a though time. My future was uncertain. My contract ended in January. I was not so enthusiastic, but I finished the review paper. I received no feedback from PI's in the last five months. Now, they want me to start all over again. I see their point, but I'm in a bad mood. 

As The Strokes say (and many many musicians before them): we only have one life. 

What do you do with your time?

On the last days I've been watching again some random episodes of Breaking Bad. It's one of my favorite TV Series of all time. The dialogues are awesome. I saw an episode in which Mr. White tells Pinkman how he discovered, at a very old age, his true passion. He says something like “You discovered it at a very early age, and I sort of envy you”. 

I wonder what do I do with my time? Am I doing it right? Am I wasting my time?

I love to write since I was a kid. I love to read since I was a kid. And I have a PhD in which some of my duties imply to write; not literature, but scientific papers. And it is fun. I also have to teach neuroscience to undergrad students. And it is fun, too. But, sometimes, students are so apathetic. And I have no brain to read and to write about myself.

You Will Never Work In Television Again

I cannot stop listening to this song. I knew of it for the very first time, a couple of weeks ago. Dunno how, but I saw on Facebook a video of the band rehearsing. It had a very poor sound quality –I cannot heard what the singer was singing–, but I identified Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood and I thought it was Radiohead. 

They were playing a song I had never heard of. It didn't sound like Radiohead. Yorke played bass guitar and sang something I couldn't understand. Greenwood played electric guitar. An unknown drummer hit the snare drum and the hi hat.

I wonder which kind of vibe will this song remind me of in a couple of weeks or months, when I have no longer to resist this awful uncertainty. It's awful to look for money. I work everyday, but no everyday I receive money.