Rate race out of the sinking ship

I applied for another job. It may be silly, as people with vested interests in me staying in my present situation tried to convince me. But the stress-related stomach pains and bitterness I have been experiencing on a nearly constant basis for most of the year just can't go on. Yoga might be an easier option though.
I was casually looking at the employment section of the website of one of Berlin's top research institutions and saw that they were looking into employing a student for 15 hours a week until summer next year. I'd always been envious of students working there, in a purely irrational fashion though, as I've nothing to base this on other than the glamourous and protected complex of buildings the institution has and the series of somewhat famous academics who work there.

Usually the employment section has offers for students to work 10 hours, or only a handful of months, which is too little for me to live off. This was the first offer I could seriously consider. The problem however, is that I'm not exactly what they're looking for. When I wrote my application for my present job, over two years ago, I knew I was what they wanted and I would get the job, and this made writing the letter very easy. This time though, and although I have serious advantages, I am not the perfect match. They are looking for someone more focused on political economy than me. And this focus is also something that makes me somewhat unexcited about the potential job.
Still, I stand some chances of getting it. Some. We'll see.
The prospect of my going away speech approaching is less exciting than when it was very very far away.

The Dream Swallower

As a teenager and up until I was 23, I used to have a lot of dreams. Dreams with complex stories and images, dreams that were entertaining to recall. I started a diary of dreams, to collect them. As soon as I got together with Mr B&I, I stopped having dreams, or at least stopped waking up remembering dreams. I found it strange , as previous relationships had not stopped me from having a creative sleepy brain. I got used to it.
Now that Mr B&I has moved to the Silly City, I am having dreams again. It started as suddenly as it had stopped. The dreams vanished once again during my visit to the Silly City.
Mr B&I is a dream swallower.

If only

I have been back in Berlin for a few days now, sadly falling back in the same routine of resenting work and its authoritarian structure, though appreciating a good bunch of the friends I've made there over the last two years, and losing once again control over my time. Days appear even shorter than they used to back at the Leinestrasse, and in the blink of an eye it's bedtime again, getting up time again, bedtime again, getting up time again... I'm still alone in the flat, although it seems that Flatmate hasn't been disappeared, as he transferred his part of the rent on my account after I sent him an email. He must be feeling ashamed of having forgotten, because he hasn't given any other sign of life. It's starting to annoy me, as we'd said he would be in charge of getting a phone and internet provider, seeing as the cheaper contracts last two years and I'm not planning on staying in the city that long. So, still no phone, and no internet of my own. On top of that, the unprotected wireless network I could access from Flatmate's desk has now disappeared. It was replaced for a day or two by another unprotected network unreassuringly named YouShouldBeMoreCareful. But even this one disappeared.
There are money worries, as the Gas company charged us - or me 500 Euro more than planned for the Leinestrasse contract. I knew prices had gone up, but it still seems extreme. In any case, this is money that was not supposed to disappear in the belly of a large gas company, but rather in the belly of the state's pension black hole for Mr. Big&Important. It is now gone all the same. Perhaps I can set the two in contact.
I think of this German girl I met at a congress last spring, who had lived in a commune in France for a handful of years. As the project started disintegrating, she suddenly asked herself why she even was in France.
I can't help comparing my present living arrangements with the Leinestr, more expensive, less comfortable, less pleasant, 100% free of Mr B&I. I wonder what I'm doing in Berlin. The questions go away when I'm seeing friends, and come back immediately afterwards. I feel entirely rootless, but disturbingly so.
If only I had time, I would write about my glimpse of life in the Longo Mai commune near Forcalquier. About life, the universe, and nothing.