I have to decide by March 1st if I will be
attending the James Joyce Conference in
Dublin this year. I’m supposed to present
at the conference (New York State of Mind:
James Joyce and the Music of Tin Pan Alley),
something that made me feel quite proud.
But I’m entering my third month of
unemployment and haven’t the funds to
pay for the necessities of life, much less a
week in Dublin. So I’m adjusting to the
fact that unless a miracle happens, I won’t
be going. Just another ripple in my
depression pond.

My current state of mind has led me to
thoughts of Joyce and depression. I think
the worst years for him were his later years
in Zurich. His eyes were getting progress-
ively worse, the reaction to Finnegans Wake
was not what he had hoped and it looked
like Lucia would have to spend the rest of her
days in an institution.

I guess I shouldn’t complain.