No, it’s not Bloomsday. I missed it.
I forgot about it. Which I do not normally do. In past years, I have been in strange rooms at midnight for marathon readings of Ulysses.
This year, it simply passed me by.
And yes, grappling with COVID and, perhaps more importantly, with racism (andyes, Black Lives Matter, and yes, All Lives Matter is racist in part because you never, ever used that phrase until people started saying Black Lives Matter), meant that I had other things on my mind. More important things, even.
But it passed. And that’s sad.
He is a member of the traditional, white, western canon, but he is also still one of the greatest English language authors in all history and we used to take one day a year to honor and. remember him and, as, if not more importantly, to make literature fun, vital, and experiential.
I won’t live forever, barring some kind of amazing medical advance and don’t know how many Bloomsdays I have ahead of me.
I hope that, at the very least, I remember the next one.