Swallow My Pride

As soon as I wake up and I get ready to get out of bed, and I fight with the incessant morning sickness, the chorus of this song repeats in my head –«This ain't the summer of love», «This ain't the summer of love»–, and it doesn't really mean nothing but that I was thinking the entire night why should I start over again and again, why should I become some sort of ghost writer. 

Everything was OK on Monday, they said it was a Blue Monday, but I went out to get a haircut, I took an on line Seminar, I spoke with some colleagues, I ran 7 km, and I wrote about Blue Monday on my new literary project. And I did all the things that I usually do besides being a scientist with a record of ~20 published papers –the most recent one dated on April 2024, and, as I write these lines, I am waiting for the verdict of another one–, an academic with a record of ~40 undergraduate and graduate courses, and so on. That's not subjective. Starting in January 2025, the National System of Researchers gave me the distinction of National Researcher Level II. That's too much even for some academics with permanent contracts and with a longer academic careers than mine that I have worked with.

I even received a couple of good news. I worked on a new academic project, too. I finished a research project I started to write on Friday, too. Everything was cool. But I contacted her via What'sApp, I asked her how she was, she did the same, I asked her what's going on at the university I worked for the last 6 years. And then she said that things were some sort of tense, and that she just won a permanent full-time academic position. I felt my heart break, again. Not just because I competed for that position, too, and not just because the committee considered that my profile was not what they were looking for, but because she's the third colleague I know that was a temporary professor, as I have been my entire life, that got a permanent academic position. Also because we recently spoke about these things and we were worried about the same. She's a friend of mine, and it's nice that she's about to leave this academic uncertainty. A couple of years ago she received the distinction of Candidate for National Researcher and about 6 months ago, we used to talk every Thursday while eating at this university where I worked for the last 6 years.

Via a What'sApp voice note she also told me that, if I wanted to, she could incorporate me to her research projects, as a fellow researcher, at this university she got the full-time academic position. She also asked me why I don't look for another postdoc in the US –7 years ago, I finished my third year of postdoc–, things that we spoke before. 

I cannot stop thinking what's wrong with me. Should I start over again and again...? Should I become some sort of ghost writer...? Should I swallow my pride, again...?

Mama's Little Pills Spilled All Over The Floor

It was about to dawn.

We were inside of a dark small apartment, standing in front of a window.

We were in silence, watching the city.

Our shadows reflected in the glass of the window in a dismal way.

Our reflection reminded me of the most popular scene of Fight Club, except that we would not see how a bomb would make an enormous building fall to pieces. 

The sky looked like a giant mouth about to yawn. 

The clouds looked like an army of violent waves about to invade a warm ocean. 

The walls in the apartment were all painted in red and they reminded me of the excess of wine in my body. 

She just wore underwear and a T-shirt. 

She stared at me.

Her eyes were sad and tired.

She looked younger than I thought she was. 

Her long black hair shone in the form of an ambiguous cascade.

Somehow, it made me to experience a group of brief vertiginous images.

These images appeared in intervals in my fuzzy brain.

Soon they adopted the form of a headache.

Her long black hair also reminded me of her shadowy naked body. 

For a moment, I almost smelled the secret perfume of her skin. 

It gave me the chills. 

I was so angst and confused. 

I felt so dumb. 

What we had done?

http://www.ifccenter.com/films/fight-club/

She came close to me and made me hug her from behind.

As we still watched the city, I felt her skinny body.

It was like an open vibrating sore. 

Her body was so tiny and soft that it reminded me of a porcelain doll. 

I felt pity of her. 

I barely could stand beside her. 

I was dizzy and about to fall asleep. 

Also, I wanted to throw up.  

She was so stoned, too.

I looked down and saw a lot of pills on the floor. 

Somehow, I knew those pills were antidepressants.

She was on treatment 'cause she had tried to commit suicide in the last year. That's why we had started to get closer.  

We had started by watching movies each Friday. 

I just wanted to be supportive. 

One thing had led to another. 

Nonetheless, the pills spilled all over the floor made me think that maybe she was addicted to meth, too.

It also gave me the chills. 

What if I had just tried meth for the first time?

I was so drunk, tired and sleepy. 

The apartment was so quiet and warm, but my mind was a fierce storm.

I felt abussive and I wanted to kill myself, but I had the feeling that she was too vulnerable and that it was not an appropriate moment.

I was terribly ill and tied to her suffering. 

I just woke up. Still feel so guilty. 

At times, dreams are so revealing and scary. 

Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More

Touch Me, I'm Sick

I started to listen Mudhoney in 1995.

It had just came out a bootleg from Nirvana's Reading Festival show.

It included an almost complete soundboard source recorded on August 30, 1992.

Back then Nirvana was the most popular band of what journalists around the world had called the Seattle sound. 

The show started with Kurt Cobain mumbling Some say love is a river... 

It was a cryptic phrase. 
I felt attracted to find out where those strange lyrics came from. 

For months, I didn't know it was the first verse of The Rose. 

I was fifteen years old. 

A friend of mine got The Money Will Roll Right In from the same show, except that it was from an audience source.

Although it was originally performed by The Fang, this song would introduce me to Mudhoney. 

Since my friend and I were interested on having a band, that song drove us wild. 

It sounded like a song really fun to play. 

Back then, it was really difficult to get albums from Seattle's underground scene.

In Mexico City, we barely got albums  from Nirvana or Pearl Jam.
It was almost impossible to get albums from Soundgarden and Alice In Chains.

Imagine how difficult it was to meet someone who had already heard Mudhoney.

On December 5, 2014 they played at El Circo Volador. 

A year ago, they had just released Vanishing Point, their sixth studio album. 

The venue was so small.

It looked like an average small bar from the 90's, like those that appear in the movies or music videos of the time. 

A couple of garage Mexican bands played before Mudhoney. 

The crowd was so enthusiastic.

The band came out and started to play Sonic Infusion. 

As the hypnotic patterns of the guitar went by, the audience started to crowd surfing.

Guy Madisson told us that Mark Arm was ill.

He had sore throat and he often coughed, but it was one of the best shows of my life. 

From the beginning, the audience went crazy.

I particularly remember when they played In N' Out Of Grace. 

Can't take out of my mind Dan Peters' prolonged drum solo, while Mark Arm and Steve Turner seemed so impressed by the surfing crowd. 

The band played almost all the songs I wanted to hear, except Mudride and Suck You Dry. 

That show ended up with The Money Will Roll Right In. 

On these days, it was the 30th anniversary of Touch Me, I'm Sick

Here Comes Sickness

A week ago I was almost recovering from pharyngotonsillitis. Tuesday and Wednesday, I was OK. Thursday and Friday, I felt nauseating to the point I had to stayed home on Friday. On Saturday I went to a second check up, and the physician told me that nausea was originated from the antibiotic intake in combination with gastroesophageal reflux, and gave me some other drugs to control it. 

Saturday afternoon I was exposed to cold for a few minutes, and started to feel sick again by night. Sunday morning, I kinda got the flu. Monday I was unable to work again, and now I feel terrible. I have a sore throat and I'm sneezing a lot. At this time, I feel sick of being myself. 

I wish I could avoid reality, thru dreaming, but I can't breathe normally. I envy your health.

For now, I think life is staring at palatable food, but unable to smell it nor eating, under a fasting condition. Life is also having hallucinatory-like dreams, under an insomniac-like state.