The bear and I went walking. The bear wanted to go to a bar. I wanted to do my usual metropolis thing of picking a direction and then walking in it until I either came across something interesting or my legs began to protest. Whichever came first.
Since the bear is only 6 inches tall, my will prevailed this time. Although a bar was visited in the end; the sort of bar that should really feature tumbleweed and creaking saloon doors blowing in a chill wind. Instead there was a barman failing to operate the cash register. I toyed with idea of getting him to pose with the bear, but since the entire place was deserted, I felt that the bear would feel the ambience to be incompatible with her fun-loving lifestyle.
Yes, I talk to inanimate objects. I am clearly in need of a life.
On the other hand, I'm starting to understand a friend's comment of a few years back when I was envying her 'please yourself' lifestyle. "Its fun and all," she said, "But you've still got this awful responsibility..."
At the time I thought she was talking nonsense and said so. Now, however, I'm starting to understand what she meant: I *can* please myself. I have virtually no commitments or ties to anything except First-Born. So there are no excuses, no reasons other than its my own fault if I feel down or unfulfilled. The responsibility is to myself.
This general angst may be connected to the fact I've not managed to talk to First Born since she left on Boxing Day. The solution is obvious. Find a bar and drink enough so I forget about it. The Bear is truly wise...
