The past few days have been so eventful that I
haven't read or thought much about James Joyce,
until today and today he's occupied my thoughts
a lot. Thoughts like: "in 13 days I'll be unemployed;
that's not so bad, James Joyce was unemployed
most of his life" and thoughts like "I'll be able to sit
in a cafe and write, despite money worries - just like
Yes, I'm soon to be completely unemployed. scary.
And tomorrow's my birthday. Damn. I'll have a
better post for you tomorrow.
One good piece of news: the little caterer's down
the street offer a small variety of dinners four
days a week that one can pick up and take home.
This week they are offering Irish Stew. Won't that
make a nice dinner tomorrow night...
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