Another Job Rejection

This afternoon, at the stroke of 5pm, I got a rejection for the Cambridge job. It was obviously a long shot, but I did have some hope, else I wouldn't have applied. To be clear, the department itself didn't seem like a very exciting place. I was mostly attracted by the swag value of Cambridge, and the intellectual environment of the university town. Even if I had just been shortlisted it would have given me a chance to crow over my own department, which didn't even shortlist me for a one-year job. "Not good enough for UWE, but good enough for Cambridge", or some such. I am also ready for a change of scene after four lonely PhD years in Bristol. But, it was not to be. This rejection means I have no other prospects to pin my hopes on. I will be in Bristol and, at best, precariously employed, and I best come to terms with it. When I first the news, I felt nothing. Actually, that's not true. I felt light, like some weight had been lifted off me. Gradually, the disappointment, and the weariness caused by weeks of waiting, set in. None of my trusted palliatives worked this time--not the special mediation for endings, not the beer and chips, not the cake and not the videos of cancer-afflicted children singing. I felt deflated. like the fight had been sucked out of me. But, the good things about Covid mood swings is, you don't stay down for long. I listened to a podcsat about the astonishingly low number o Covid deaths in South Asia and sub-Saharan Africa and my mood perked up a bit. I know it won't last. Tomorrow, I will wake up in the morning, and everything will be fine until I remember the previous day's disappointing news. it will get me down, but I will pick myself up. Because, what else is there to do?