We see people brand new people

As I register and tell my name to a woman at the entrance of the auditorium and sign a sheet and she gives me a gift backpack, a folder with several documents and a badge with my name, I sort of remember that I came here, to this very auditorium, almost 20 years ago. Those were different times, I was just an inexperienced guy with a degree in Psychology, months ago I had just graduated from the School of Psychology. The opportunity to start as a teacher of a Motivation & Emotion course appeared out of nowhere. One of the members of my thesis jury used to work at Ibero, and I didn't know it, but then, at some point of the review process of my thesis, I asked him if he knew how could I get involved into academia, that I wanted so hard to acquire experience in teaching, all I had done was to give two or three classes of one of the courses of my advisor. 

I've been exhausted all week, between Monday, Tuesday and Friday I give 12 hours of classes, I still haven't adapted to this new stage of my life. I've also been writing a manuscript, it's a collaboration that someone proposed to me, this manuscript will be the second manuscript I write in 2025. Honestly, I haven't enjoyed the writing process, I am working against the clock, is not fun. I've been so busy that I haven't been able to go out for a run. For the last two weeks I've been waking up very early in the morning and starting to write this manuscript and studying and working for classes, and fixing some demanding bureaucratic issues. A month ago I was relatively free.

As I walk through the auditorium, I wonder how much the university will pay me. I can't stop worrying about money; it's a pain. I'm a Level 2 National Researcher, which isn't easy; I should receive the salary corresponding to this distinction, but all year I've been looking for an opportunity; I sent almost 15 applications for full-time permanent academic positions to almost 10 universities. None of them saw my potential.

Anyway, I look for a spot, find it, sit down, and have a flashback. I remember that Saturday, it must have been January 2005, I was completely different from who I am now, the only person who'd ever loved me had just sent me to hell, I didn't know how to teach a course, I was so näive, still lived at my parents house. 

I take a deep breath, I should be writing this manuscript. 

Then I see you. You're in the front row, your straight, horsehair-like hair drawing me in. It's so hypnotic and shiny. As if sensing that kind of mental empowerment, you slowly turned your head to the left. I sat to your right, and our eyes make contact. You're smiling at nothing, wearing magnifying glasses. I can't help but glance briefly at your breasts, and I'm shocked. I'm stupid. I shouldn't be thinking this. I wonder what it would have been like to meet you 20 years ago, I wonder what it would have been like to have sex with you. 

I'm sure I'll continue writing this manuscript when I get back home, but I'm sure I'll drink a couple of Jim Beams and also write a story about us, about how we met 20 years ago in a frivolous world, while academia is collapsing and we're listening to this Iggy Pop song about humans being like ice machines.