Stravogin and Stupid Micks

I posted last night about my fatigue, my joy of reading Dostoevsky and my soaring impatience with performing the necessary, most notably income taxes. It isn't that I mind paying such it is the focus of the form and all else related that drives me batty. Alas today is a new day, neatly commodified by Guinness and Hallmark. Its a good day for self-loathing, eh?