Everything's a misnomer. Is it a return-to-innocence day or a three-men-in-a-boat kind of day or a too-dumb-to-refine kind of day I'm trying to communicate? I don't think it matters either way. It's not that I woke up with a sprained back and was tortured into getting an ultrasonography and then tripped over a sleeping dog and fell down splat (and not even three days gone since I tried to sit on the same dog because it looked like a bag), it's not even the prospect of being allergic to mangoes, it's not anything palpable, really. Call it the happiness of everything not fitting into a torpor day. Call it happypanic part two. Call it anything you will but note, the dog doesn't hate me.