Desperate for Water

It was so hot today and I dehydrated myself so badly (because I’m dumb, that’s why) that I seriously considered joining the protesters and behaving in such an unruly way that police would have to be called to hose me down. 

After my classes, I took Klara to the splash pad. I was so desperate for water that I walked under a huge bucket of water in my formal dress, makeup and hair. Of course, people in swimsuits and shorts stared but a huge advantage of age is that the last time I cared about what anybody thought was in the last century.


No Room for Me

And mind you, there were many people who saw that installation, wrote on it, stared at it, congregated around it. Many faculty members. Obviously, it was all organized by faculty members to begin with. And not a single person was bothered by the hammer and sickle. OK, students are young and ignorant. What about professors? What’s their excuse?

There is no side here for me to pick. I despise the buggers who write racist crap and post it on their colleagues’ doors. But for some maddening reason, those who oppose them have so many impotent, vapid, self-congratulating idiots among them that their whole side starts to stink, as well. It’s not just today, of course. It’s always, always, always like that. If I go to a meeting against racism, somebody will start saying crap against immigrants sooner or later. Feminist clubs do nothing but quote Cosmo-level mantras at me. And so on. In the end, there is no joy in it for me, no excitement, just wariness and the thin excuse that their opponents are even worse.


This is from a student protest against racist incidents on campus. See top right-hand corner.

It’s funny how everyone is a victim except for us. What we experienced doesn’t count. We get no safe spaces and no recognition.

Why, why does it always have to be, “I’m against these evildoers but in favor of those other evildoers”?