It's one of those bleak, rainy days where all you want to do is snuggle under the duvet with a cup of tea and a good book, or a man.
I read online that a Chinese man who used to keep bears to harvest their bile by inserting a catheter into them, was killed and eaten by them. The practice of harvesting bile is generally condemned as cruel and unnecessary, so I can't say I really blame the bears for having had enough. Some people do have odd professions. 'Bear biler' must be one of the odder.
I sometimes wonder if I should have a profession. I'm not a 'something', I don't even have a career, I just am. Maybe I'll look back when I'm 80 odd and think wistful thoughts about those who have a profession. Of course, I may have written and published by then, in which case I'll be a 'something' because I'll be a writer.
Would I glow with being a 'something', I wonder. When people ask me what I am now, I hum and haa a bit, look at my shoes and scuff my toes, twiddle my thumbs and either remark on what splendid weather we're having or look startled at my watch and hurry off. I work, yes, but I'm not a 'something'.
My ex is a 'something'. He's at the top end of the 'something' scale actually which translated into long hours and lots of bad temper. Rather an off-putting example for a 'yet-to-find-her-professional-something' so I concentrated on filling in and being a mother.
Motherhood is not for the faint-hearted either. Had I been a psychology major I may have some idea what is going on inside my eldest's head at the moment. He's going through a phase, and I am trying to ride the crest to help him through it and come out the other side unscathed. It'll be all my fault if it goes wrong anyway. I know my place. In the wrong.So, on that happy note..