Inspired by my recent revelation of self-knowledge, I decided it was time to actually read Joyce's Ulysses. After all, I loved Dubliners and Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, and I've had the book sitting around for an embarrassingly long time. I figured Monday (yesterday) would be a good time to start reading, since I had two hours to kill on a train ride.
Why is this uncanny? Because yesterday was June 16th, or Bloomsday - the popular celebration of all things Joyce, and the day on which the events of Ulysses take place. And because I had no idea whatsoever of that celebration until I read about it in today's newspaper.
Needless to say, all my doors are locked and bolted.