I got a plan to get us outta here

This song meant nothing to me. The first time I heard it I was in my third semester of university, I was attending an English class thought by a professor from Minnesota –a huge Vikings fan–, whose classes were fantastic, dynamic and fun. Her name was Karen. Once she played this song in class and asked us to translate it into Spanish, or something like that. We only spoke in English in her classes. 

As I listened to the song, I vaguely recalled Tracy Chapman. Perhaps I had heard "Fast car" by chance on the radio at some point of my life, and I knew who Tracy Chapman was, but nothing more. As the song played on, Karen sang along very softly. Dunno why but I got the impression that the song really moved her, that she really felt the song –that she was enjoying it while simultaneously feeling its pain. Never paid too much attention to the lyrics. I always thought it was a song about a car accident.  

I dreamed of you for the first time since we had to say goodbye. In my dream, you were that incredible, strong cat you were before you developed kidney failure. This was the first song Lizzie and I heard in the first Uber after saying goodbye. Since then, the experience has happened each time we are inside an Uber talking about you, or thinking about you. It happens almost once a week –practically on one out of every third Uber rides we take together. That's why I think of you each time I hear this song. 

Yesterday was our weeding anniversary and Lizzie's birthday, and we took an Uber –she was very sad, she misses you every second–, and "Fast Car" played again. We took the song as a sign that you are watching over and thinking of us from heaven. We miss you so much, Jackson, you were an awesome cat. 

Yesterday, while having dinner, a sudden memory came back to me: I saw Yoko and Gattuso walking toward the dining room, and for a moment, I thought you were with them—that you would appear coming down the stairs, just as you used to when you were healthy, moving your muscular legs, one step after another, like a formidable feline. It was such a vivid sensation.

Then I returned to reality, and almost at the same time, I remembered your final minutes with us: first in Lizzie’s arms and then in mine, like a little kitten. You were no longer in pain; you looked so peaceful. And now, as I write these lines, I’ve realized what this song is really about. Like Karen, I feel this song deeply; it truly moves me. We will always miss you, Jackson.

sear those thoughts of me, alone and unhappy

Supposedly, this song reflects «a desperate, broken state of mind», mixing drug use and co-dependent relationships. I got this info from Reddit and Google AI, they even quote Billy Corgan's interviews from different sources. 

Why I am listening to this song? 

Apart from this question, it sickens me to write in my cellphone: I'm almost unable to write a single word, the style corrector “predicts” what I want to write and it always fails and I always have to re-write what I want to write, cellphones always remind you that you're another human in the world, just like everyone... Anyway, I'm awake from 4:30 AM and I got up from bed and as usual I bled and wrote my glucose levels on a notebook and wrote what I did and thought about my most recent days on earth on another notebook, while I was sort of pissed.

Yesterday I woke up and checked my e-mail, the Editor in chief from Current Behavioral Neuroscience Reports informed me that they accepted for publication this MS I wrote between July and August 2025, that I left aside from September to October 2025 and that I formatted and submitted it to Psychopharmacology on December 2025, the Editor in chief from that journal told me that «they had more job than they could handle» and recommended me to send the MS to Current Behavioral Neuroscience Reports.

Then, between December 24th and 25th, I re-formatted the MS and submitted it to Current Behavioral Neuroscience Reports (I'm ommiting the part of reading the requirements of each Journal —Cover Letter, scopes, references and citations, abstract extension, etc.—, and uploaded all the files to the system of each Journal and, before all of this, I'm ommiting the part of finding an appropriate Journal for the MS); more or less, and after I had to make another style corrections asked by the Editor of the Journal, I received a response from the Journal on January-February 2026, in which they informed me that they had asked 10 reviewers to check the MS...

Then I received an e-mail with the referees comments' on March and the Journal gave me nearly 3 weeks to resubmitted the corrected MS with a point-by-point PDF directed to the referees... Those were unusual weeks —the Yorkshire of my sister in law got very sick and its condition worsened in a few days, after a long week my sister in law decided to say goodbye to her Yorkshire, it was so sad, then my wife got very ill and ended up in ICU, it was awful, my wife was so sick, I never felt so sad and vulnerable...

For the first time in my life, I had to ask for an extension, the Journal gave it to me, and I worked and worked on Fridays and Saturdays and Sundays, I almost went nuts, but re-discovered how much I enjoy this specialized job —intelectually, creatively and emotionally demanding, besides being hard-working—, and resubmitted the MS to Current Behavioral Neuroscience Reports a week ago.

Yesterday, as I wrote, I received an e-mail and the Editor in chief informed me that it was accepted for publication. As I am not officially the Corresponding Author —even though I did all the Corresponding Author job—, I can't proceed with the next steps. And I'm sort of pissed off 'cause these guys I'm eventually working with, don't give a f#$k. I sent them a WhatsApp nearly 24h ago and they haven't given me an answer. And I understand, we are on Sunday, yesterday was Saturday, we are in the middle of holidays. But I'm also aware that one of these guys I'm working with called me, out of nowhere, on a Saturday of July 2025, while I was having breakfast with my wife in a Toks, to remind me «You have to write this MS» (obviously, then I had already started to write this MS) and then, between August and September made another “out of nowhere”-call, to demand my attention on why did I put myself as Corresponding Author and First Author in the MS  This MS is part of a deal these guys I'm working with proposed me on June 2025. They paid me off 3 months, I worked from September to April without receiving incomes. They told me we would speak of businesses when the MS would have been accepted for publication. It was accepted for publication yesterday. And they just haven't answered.

Who understands? What's the point? I wouldn't be so pissed off, if he just hadn't called me up whenever he needed to talk with me. Assuming that I'm always able to talk. Each time I try to call him up he's not able. It seems that I have to make an appointment.

Do you see it? I hate this isn't reciprocal.

Writing and submitting this MS and responding the referees comments' to this MS was a though job; don't get confused: to start from scratch and get accepted for publication in nearly 6 months, it's not usual, it's not standard, it's that I am good at my job.

And I'm so proud of it. This is the third MS I publish in 3 consecutive years. I can write and publish in peer-reviewed journals by myself. I don't need anyone. Sometimes, it would look like no one cares, not even the co-authors. Sometimes, it would look like this isn't relevant. Sometimes, it would look like I didn't do the job: that I just followed orders and that, when I say that I write, I say it 'cause I read a poem on a Mother's Day Festival at elementary school and my mother and my grandmother listened to it and told me «You're a wonderful writer!»