Housecleaning: not my friend.

So I decided things were kind of out of hand and went on a rearranging binge. It was going pretty well...until I tried to do something with the Closet of Doom. Then my precariously-balanced super-cheap super-fake Yule-tree-in-a-box fell out and hit me in the face.

I have a black eye. A real one. A shiner.

I can make it not-too-noticeable with makeup, but before that it is really quite shocking.

It looks like the sort of thing that no one will believe is entirely innocent.

Happy Bloomsday!

It's a very significant day for far too many Literature/Creative Writing majors (as I was), and still widely observed in Dublin.

It usually falls close to Father's Day, and my lit-geek dad will forgive me for forgetting Father's Day but not for failing to contact him on Bloomsday.

I did a dramatic reading at work tonight.

One of the multi-level-nerdiest things I have ever done--and between you and me, that's saying something--is the allusion I snuck into one of my ficlets for the Good Omens Anonymous Kink Meme, as revealed in this self-outing post. It's in the hurt/comfort "water" one, which, although the name of the ship is never mentioned, is clearly about Crowley and Aziraphale as "survivors" of the Titanic.

"Scrotum-tightening sea." (snickers like a 9-year-old).

Technically anachronistic, as Ulysses wasn't published until 1922. But of course the original Bloomsday was in 1904, and of course in my personal fanon the demon and the angel were both involved and the fourth wall was particularly thin that year (don't even ask about the fifth and sixth!); Crowley's friends were the book's characters and at the same time, Aziraphale enjoyed the occasional postprandial with Joyce himself. (Both claimed credit for his later treatment by the critics and obligatory status in lit courses).