nevermind

fuck it, I want to whinge instead. I specialise in it; no need to try and order my thoughts and construct some sort of coherent argument and essay when I can let the fingers fly and the drama flow. Or lack thereof. Or whatever. Coming from a UK academic background I just look different, on paper, than my American-educated peers. Or competitors, in this charming industry of ours. And it's reasonably early days, yet, the waiting to hear about requests for further materials and MLA interviews. But in finding who had so far heard what from where, and a very small sampling at that, the despair came crashing in. For yet again, someone whom I know to be a lovely person is flying through the early stages. Her work simply isn't as good as mine. But her academic pedigree, as it were (what are we, fucking show dogs?) is comparable, without the foreignness. Yes, there's always the minor detail of subfield, which undoubtedly plays into it somewhere. But what she does? She doesn't do it so well that I can forgive being overlooked.

All of which, of course, leads the to the crushing self-doubt. (Don't forget the despair, or the rage, by the way. It just wouldn't be the same without them!) The doubt of this ever working out, the doubt in the quality of my work or teaching or anything, the doubt that is, uncensored, the gaping wound in the heart of job letters or interviews. Of facing maybe she does do it so well, that even the terms of my judgement, the spectrums of quality upon which I judge, are not just flawed, but fundamentally wrong, meaningless. So - keep up, now - despair, rage, crushing self-doubt, and utter uncertainty.

Then feed in the historical question - if I don't get X, what comes next? What ever shall I do, Miss Scarlett? Alternately, if I don't get X, what the FUCK have I been doing all this time? And surely someone might have pointed out, somewhere along the way, that this went beyond misguided, beyond quixotic, to just out and out dumb. No future, questionable past. Translation: despair, rage, crushing self-doubt, uncertainty, and the ominous shadow of regret.

Not bad in the 10 minutes it's taken to write this and the 3 minutes it took to learn what schools had called this woman for interviews. And haven't, obviously, called me. We could throw in some envy and/or jealousy, but they're secondary, really, to the question of desire. Despair, rage, self-doubt, uncertainty, regret, and desire thwarted. What a Tuesday.