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.

It 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 years 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 invited you to my wedding–, 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 are so radical now. You act like all men are idiots. 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. Even if my life is a disaster. Friday afternoons 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, fall in love with the wrong square-minded girls, to write about them, to feel guilty 'cause it seems to me that I was the wrong one, that I didn't fit in. I used to moan and cry, and to believe in a promising future. That, eventually, things would get better. And they did. I had several bad experiences, I met terrible women who made me feel worthless, who squeezed my heart like it was trash. Sometimes I felt like my life was over, that it would be the same, that I will not find my soulmate. But I found the love of my life, unexpectedly.

Today I ran 5 km in the morning, not my best record, then I went to the university. There, I had a couple of meetings with pupils –I'm their Thesis advisor–, and later I voted for a candidate to the Leadership of the Health Sciences Department. He promised to do everything possible to convince our colleagues to hire me, to give me the opportunity to become a permanent professor. It's almost five years since I arrived at this university, and I have not gotten anything except temporary contracts for two quarters per year. I am the perfect candidate for this position. None of the candidates are psychologists with a PhD in Biomedical Sciences like me, none of them have the experience I have, but the authorities decided to not give me the opportunity to compete. 

I was listening to Pearl Jam and waiting for my Uber in one of the school yards, trying to get rid of these thoughts, when D appeared out of nowhere. She said Hi and then asked me if I was able to be her Thesis advisor. She told me more or less her proposal and she asked for an advice, she wanted to know if that the degree was worth it. I could tell her that this Bachelor's Degree in particular has so many flaws, but I told her positive things. She's too young, why should I spread the truth to her...? 

J appeared later and asked me if it is true that I will not longer continue at this university. I got surprised by the way rumors spread. Sometimes it looks like pupils know things before academics do. I told her that authorities not only decided to not give me the opportunity to compete for the Leadership of the Health Sciences Department but that they don't think that I am necessary for the Department. How's that! I don't believe it! I like your classes so much!, she said. 

The Uber arrived. I felt a kind of bitterness. If someone with a billion dollars appeared out of nowhere and got an interview with the authorities of the university and knew about me, what kind of profile I am, and what kind of profile the Department has, I'm sure he/she would realize the pointlessness of financing anything at the university.

I know that in a few hours I'll be drunk. I will forget everything, I'll have a few blackouts –Gosh, reality it's so unfair and so harsh!– and I'll feel guilty. And upset. And sick. And frustrated. But, to be honest, nothing's wrong with me. Just like I realized in high school that the girls I fall in love with were square-minded, now I've realized the same thing: authorities are square-minded.

I wanna fly, I wanna ride with you

Veronica was already your associate when I met you. I barely remember when I met her, but I suppose that the first time I saw her, she was performing stereotactic surgery, she was standing on a stool, she couldn't have been much taller than me, less than five feet six inches. Underneath her lab coat, I kinda saw a tight blouse and a skirt and I couldn't stop looking at her legs, they were so awesome. It looked like she went out for a run frequently. She was also sort of angry, I believe I said «Hello» and that she didn't even say «Hi». Maybe she just faked a smile.

Then, on my first New Year's dinner with your research group, she got drunk. Too much wine. They said she did the same, year after year. She was so drunk that started to say some things out of context. At one point, she told me «I will teach you things you don't even know...», and she was not talking about any experiment we were collaborating in. Veronica continued: «You're gonna like it...», or something like that. They said she used to get drunk in every occasion she could. 

I wish this weren't true but meeting you was so traumatic, your lab was hell, I still dream of you. I traveled to the future and today it is not May 20, 2022 but March 13, 2025 and I just woke up from a recurrent dream, I'm coughing, beating on the MacBook keyboard, and I wish this was another dream or nightmare, but in my dream I was again at your lab, feeling mad and dizzy. It was the middle of the night, we were in some sort of meeting with students and I was afraid and angst, I didn't want to see you, I didn't want to be in hell. You wore yellow or khaki pants and also a ridiculous shirt and tie. But you also wanted me to work for you. You looked at me with that overacted face of anger and discomfort. 

Suddenly we were in your office, but it was a different office, not the one I knew, everything was upside down in hell. You ordered «You just need to do what I ask you to do, Marcel», and then I laughed and I told you «You really think I am an idiot, a guy who just follows instructions!», and you sort of started to got up from your seat –I was standing close to you– and it looked like we were about to fight, when Veronica appeared out of nowhere –it was the middle of the night–, and she was still your associate and she was wearing nothing but her lab coat, her tight blouse and her skirt, like she did the first time I saw her in hell. And I couldn't stop looking at her legs, and she was so close to me I could touch her. 

She stood between the two and smiled and looked at me. Her look calmed me, it made my blood stop boiling. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and somehow I knew I was dreaming and I could do whatever I wanted, and I wanted to touch her legs, but I just walked out from your lab. 

Outside, it was already dawning.

Now I'm sober and sad –life's so unfair!–, and I think of Veronica and her legs. I wonder why I dreamed of her, why I am still dreaming of you, I haven't been in your lab for a decade but I still dream of your lab that was hell, then I listen this song of Queens of the Stone Age, and I cough again and I am still beating the MacBook keyboard and it hurts –life's so unfair! And I don't remember exactly when but the image burns in my mind: I got drunk in the apartment where I lived when I was in hell, it must have been any Friday afternoon in 2013, and then I heard this song and couldn't stop thinking of Veronica's legs.

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. A couple of weeks ago, while I was warming-up for a run, I heard this band for the very first time. I guess I initially saw a video on Facebook, it was a very poor quality video in which a band was rehearsing in some sort of a dark basement. The video also had a very poor sound quality, I barely heard what the singer was singing about. Yet, I identified Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood and I thought the band was Radiohead. The song was catchy, with a lot of noise, with a lot of drums and bass.

The band was playing this song. Beyond the singer's voice, 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 this awful uncertainty comes to an end. Will this awful uncertainty end...?, will I ever find the job of my life...?, am I doomed to hunt for temporary contracts for eternity...? You don't know how sad it is to save money all the time, you travel all over the world every year, you don't work a minute for free. I sort of envy you.