Bloomsday: Some Day I Will Deserve To Celebrate

Tomorrow, June 16, is Bloomsday, a celebration of the fateful day when the hero of James Joyce's Ulysses, Leopold Bloom, made a journey through Dublin that echoed the voyage of Odysseus. I will no doubt find myself sipping a glass of Jameson or draining a pint of Guinness but sadly the taste will match the bitter reality of my shame. Shame, you see, for I have yet to actually finish reading Ulysses. I cannot even honestly write that I have given it more than one serious effort, and that was a few years ago with a group of friends and strangers who not surprisingly lost our motivation to continue to do anything biweekly save for meeting in an Irish pub, reading be damned.

Beside me sits the copy I purchased with so much enthusiasm but which now seems as faded and forgotten as the t-shirts I cannot discard. I did manage to include it in the move from California, and the reason it is so accessible now is that I at one point considered bringing it with me to South America. I believe its weight, both physical and literary, helped me ignore that idea. My bookmark still lives between pages 180 and 181 though I know perfectly well that I shall I have to start from the beginning should (when!) I find the determination within to try again. I look at this photo of Joyce and I like to think he is both laughing at me yet understands completely.

Happy Bloomsday, here's inspiration from the man himself:

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals to discovery.