Just writing about my emotional fatigue. Not to fish for compassion, but to say you should not feel guilty about it, either.
So I took a photo from my home office window, put some arrows on it, and explained them. (You are welcome to feel sorry for me when you have time.)
Today, I will tell you about the s in https. Don’t get offended if you already know this.
Just what the title says: what is in our Sunday breakfast? It doesn’t get more mundane than that.
How is that possible? Read to find out. This is meant to be an unsettling post and a call to action against slave labor.
Today, you won’t learn what San Diego is like. But I will invite you to play a game: tell about your last journey before the lockdown. Other than that, I choose to be optimistic and say: hold on—till we see each other again. And not just on a screen.
I was too angry to write a post yesterday. But today I had a conversation than made me believe—again—that I don’t have to just suffer what others (including the powers that be) throw at me
Contains a link to our handwashing dance in the Vietnam style. Enough said.
On April 11, Hungarians celebrate the birthday of Attila József, one of the deepest and most original poets I have ever come across. […] he is a man of elementally intense emotions, put in perfect words and flawless music.
A previous confinement reminds me that waiting for Easter means having hope that we will walk free again.