“Why did you scream at the pier today?” I asked Klara.

“Because I wanted to kiss my daddy and he wasn’t there any more,” she said.

They never freak out just because. There’s always a reason, and it’s often pretty profound.

All of a sudden, Klara became very difficult at bedtime. This was never a problem before, so I was puzzled. And then I figured it out: she’s afraid I’ll disappear. First, Daddy went away, and it stands to reason that mommy might also evaporate all of a sudden. So now I repeat about five hundred times that “when you wake up, mommy is going to be there,” and then she goes to bed.

My mimosa back home finally bloomed and I’m not there to see it!

This is the only tree I ever planted and took care of since it was a little sapling, so I’m very proud of it.

So what’s happened at the meeting between Trump and the North Korean guy?

It’s been a crazy day here because Klara and I decided to go explore the town, which was probably not the smartest idea because first she didn’t want to get in the cab, then she didn’t want to get out of the cab, then she wanted to hug every mannequin at the store, then she was upset that there were no daddy mannequins which reminded her that her own daddy wasn’t there, then she wanted to lie on the floor and kick the stand holding books with her feet, then she had a mega meltdown, then she thought it would be fun to throw her red ball in the traffic, then she got scared of the wooden figure of a smiling pizza man because he had a big moustache, then she didn’t want to get on the bus, then she wanted to see if my yellow pants would look nice decorated with beans from the Mexican restaurant, then I had to carry her for half a mile. And that was just the beginning of it.

It doesn’t happen often but today was one of those days. And I want to find out about the North Korean meeting but I can’t process information any more. And all I’m thinking is, wow, that’s how Trump’s aides must feel every day, poor buggers.

People at my school are very bothered that colleagues at our sister school are condescending to us. Objectively speaking, it’s clear that it’s true and the sister colleagues are, indeed, trying to condescend. I’m not bothered by it, though, because I don’t feel like they can condescend to me, no matter how hard they might try.

In order for one to feel condescended to, one needs to acknowledge that the interlocutor is in the position to do so. My research record is. . . how shall I put it? . . not inferior to anybody working at the sister school. So I can’t worry that sister colleagues don’t see me as a serious scholar. They are not in a position to pass that judgment at all.

It’s the same thing as shame. If you sincerely don’t believe something is shameful, you can’t feel shamed for it. And if you don’t believe you are even remotely beneath someone, they will never make you feel condescended to.

So do you remember Carbondale’s plan to exploit unpaid labor? Do you believe all the bad press made the school desist from the plan?

No, you don’t because I don’t have any dumb people on this blog.

A colleague who has a degree from them just got an email asking if he’d like to “volunteer” in this project.

The degree he has with them is an MA, so it seems like for now they are going for the MA holders. I don’t know if any PhD holders got this email. Which means nothing to me because I’m equally opposed to exploiting the unpaid labor of people with any degree or no degree. Work needs to be paid, that’s all I know.

Klara and I were looking at a particularly dramatic sunset.

“Why is so beautiful, Mommy?” Klara asked. “Why are all colors matching?”