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”?

I just granted admission to the FB page for local moms to somebody who’s lived here her whole life. Because I discovered the page first! I know things! I’m swelling with pride. 

The winner is. . . Drumroll. . . 🍭🍬🍹🎂🐘🌷💐🌻 

Almost 40!!!

Congratulations! I don’t know who you are but you know me extremely well. It’s creepy.

Here are the answers:

1. I’m busy planning my wedding to the man of my dreams.

True. N and I want a wedding. I want a church wedding but N is an agnostic which means he takes religion more seriously than religious people.

2. The name I use to refer to myself in my own mind is El.

True. I have no idea why but it’s been like this forever.

3. I got baptized last year.

False. I haven’t been baptized yet. 

4. I met my husband online.

True. He fell in love with my texts long before he saw me. 

5. I kept ladybugs as pets when I was a kid.

True. I was plenty weird. 

6. My best friend voted for Trump.

False. But I’d love her just the same if she did. There’s literally nothing she can do to get rid of me. 

7. I haven’t looked up any of my exes on Facebook, not even my ex-husband.

True. I’m not curious.

8. I have never seen an episode of the Game of Thrones.

True. As always, I’m behind the curve. 

9. My favorite place on this continent is Washington DC.

True. Washington left Montreal in the dust for me. I’d so love to live there. 

10. I’m seeing my psychoanalyst on Fridays.

True. I’ve recently gone back because I need help with grieving.

The “Ten Things About Me” meme that everybody is doing sounds fun. In the meme, people post 10 facts about themselves, 8 of which are true and 2 are false. And people guess which are false. The catch is that you have to guess both falsehoods at once. Feel free to give your own lists in the comments and I’ll try to guess.

My list:

1. I’m busy planning my wedding to the man of my dreams.

2. The name I use to refer to myself in my own mind is El.

3. I got baptized last year.

4. I met my husband online.

5. I kept ladybugs as pets when I was a kid.

6. My best friend voted for Trump.

7. I haven’t looked up any of my exes on Facebook, not even my ex-husband.

8. I have never seen an episode of the Game of Thrones.

9. My favorite place on this continent is Washington DC.

10. I’m seeing my psychoanalyst on Fridays.

Maybe I shouldn’t teach poetry. Yesterday I was teaching Ruben Dario, one of my favorite poets, and I started reading a poem aloud, and I got so emotional that my voice was breaking and I had tears in my eyes. 

Before that, we read the mystics and the Golden Age, and it was the same thing. I can teach the Romantics because there isn’t a single Spanish Romantic poet who ever made me feel anything. (As opposed to English Romantics whom I love). But St John and Quevedo make me so emotional that I start blubbering in the midst of teaching. 

A question from Facebook:

A higher percent of  Sanders supporters voted for Clinton in 2016 than the percent of Clinton supporters  who voted for Obama in 2008. If you didn’t know that ask yourself why.

Answer: because I got a life, lady. 

To think that somebody actually made the calculation. Sat there and came up with the idea to find out. And then did. And then thought about it. And then felt something about it.

People inhabit such a different reality. 

What’s really annoying is people who find it so extremely odd that I have a 19-month-old kid at my extremely advanced age that they feel the need to ask me about it several times in a row. 

“So. . . you’re saying she is your daughter?”

“She is.”

“Daughter?” 

For just in case my language skills are so poor that I don’t know what the word means. 

“Yes, my daughter.”

“Huh. And she’s how old?”

“Still 19 months old.”

“Huh. I guess I just didn’t know you had such a young kid. Your daughter, eh?” 

One would think that academics, at least, would be more acquainted with the possibility of 40-year-old women having kids, but no such luck. I’m not in the least self-conscious about my age. But this is boring to me because I only like to repeat things in the classroom where I get paid to do it.

I have a colleague who gave birth at 47. I’m thinking of sending these folks to her so that she can give them a coronary with her late-life fertility and lighten my burden. 

Maybe I should get a T-shirt that says, “Yes, I gave birth at 39. You mind?