If it wasn’t for Livia’s fishing in fetid waters. Casting her net into the dead pool. Into loser’s lagoon. Into the part-time sink hole. If it wasn’t for Livia, rummaging around in the box of broken biscuits …
The last conference we’d paid to come to. Our last hope. With our last money. Where we couldn’t afford the conference dinner. The conference drinks. Where we’d booked only the shittiest rooms. The earliest morning talk slots.
The last conference! With our last desperation. Hauling ourselves with the last strength we could muster. For one last chance. One last round. One last attempt to get our names known! To try and find our way onto an interview list. Or to break open a new seam of part time work, at least.
Ah, but we gave up, soon enough. We crashed and burned, soon enough.
Sure, we met each other. Sure, we found one another. At the bottom of the pit! Of the same funnel. We found ourselves in company. So called company. We’d stopped just dying for a moment. Pressed pause on the suicidal ideation, for a time at least.
And there was Livia, come to save us.
Had Livia not decided to back the losers. Had Livia not gone fishing in part time waters to see what she’d pull up. In our cess pit! Our dead pool!
Had Livia not gone prospecting at dodgy conferences. Had she not repeatedly asked for advice about who she’d hire and then proceed in the opposite direction. Had she not approached the ones she’d been warned against. Not the academic stars, but the academic losers …
She wanted lecturers who wouldn’t just fly the coop. Who wouldn’t simply get jobs elsewhere. She wanted people who’d stick around. Who’d be malleable, a little. She wanted lecturers who’d be grateful for the chance. Who’d be happy to be have been given a job. An opportunity.
And she landed her fish. We were flopping around on her deck.
Work in Progress 