Bloom’s day Part II

Dorothea and the children went camping with Liz. In my post-work life, I layed around and slept. Watched Frontline of “The Forgetting.” Boy is that creepy, make you think that you are doomed.
Played a couple rounds on the trap set this morning, something that I couldn’t in good conscience do if there were people sleeping upstairs.
Yesterday on the news they were talking about the residue from a pesticide plant, closed for sixty years, in the Phillips neighborhood. But yuck. That just makes my skin crawl.
I followed the advice offered by a commentator on the radio about Ulysses and skipped the first three chapters. I must have done that before, because I remember the whole bit about Bloom cooking and eating the kidney and pooping. Not just for that, but I can identify, relate to, understand Bloom. I am forty-five. Reading it now is a different experience than in my twenties. Joyce was younger, I assume, when he wrote it.