It's all gone horribly wrong. Which isn't quite true. But as avid readers have no doubt realised (yeah, like I have avid readers), I have been having a bit of a blogging block lately. Dodn't know what to blog about. Didn't feel that interested in blogging. Now, I have all sorts of blogging ideas and just can't seem to make time to reach blogger. That and I still wish I knew how to write big long essays but stick most of them under the fold. Haven't mastered that little bit of html at all.

Anyway, I have been meaning to blog about the possibility of a new blog (you can tell I was getting disenfranchised from my current blog). A blog all about Pansy's search for love and discipline in So. Cal. based on her emails. I think they are hilarious. But well, I am afraid relatives might find this blog and the Pansy looks for love blog would need to be more seriously hidden. But it is an idea I haven't given up.

I want to write a New Year's blog. All about my hopes and dreams for the new year but instead of blogging about my regrets of never bleeching my hair, I worry about having to write a good four speeches.

Then I thought, I'll blog about lent. Which I really mean to do. Because again, the more attentive reader will have noticed I haven't mentioned alcohol in simply ages. I've given it up. For Lent. I am miserable too. And well, there are stories to tell about me, alcohol, my feelings about identity and spirituality and Imelda Marcos. Maybe later this week.

Because today I have been distracted by my teddy bears. I have a conference to go to tomorrow. And the instructions say to 'bring with you something which you find personally useful in supporting you through difficulties. For example, a poem, quote, prayer, piece of writing, music cd or soft toy (you can take it away with you). Which means Howard is having a field trip. Yes, I still sleep with my teddy bear. Have I mentioned the problems I and the Blessing have over Dilly, my lavender bear that I have burned so he no longer smells of lavender but more burnt popcorn? Well, Dilly isn't the only bear in my bed. I have had Howard for almost 20 years now. I got him on my 19th birthday because Teddy couldn't go to university with me. I had Teddy from when I was a baby. He was hugged so much his chest lost his hair. He went through a series of Toddler shirts (including one orginally owned my brother that was a relic from the first trip to London). Then the fabric on his chest went. Every Friday my mother hoovered up a little bit more of him. She took him to the bear surgeon in town to see if anything could be done (I am not making this up) and she said the only option was to rip him open and use him as a pattern for a new bear. Is it any wonder I said no?!? I am still traumatised by the suggestion.

Much as I am traumatised by the time I was watching Emergency with my brother (older) and he suddenly shouted cardiac arrest, through Teddy on the floor and start compressions on his chest. Teddy, as well as being rather stiff and prickly, also growled. You would tip him over and he would growl. After the heart problems, Teddy kept quiet for months. David may think I have forgiven. He may even think I have forgot. He would be wrong. Anyway, I went to university and Teddy went to the attic. I missed having a bear and then Howard arrived for my 19th birthday. When I went to London it was sans teddy bear. My boyfriend at the time, after listening to me moan about how I didn't like to sleep without a bear, lent me his for a few months. When I went to Belfast, Howard stayed at home* (along with my Dad's Eisenhower jacket and my Isreali paratrooper bag from Banana Republic--my mother made a dawn raid on my packing and took out the things she worried would get me shot in 1992 Belfast). I went home at Christmas and missed him so much he went into the carryon baggage for the flight back (putting a bear into the luggage hold would be cruel). Security in those days in and out of Belfast was tight. Howard went through the x-ray machine in the bag only to be pulled out and made to go through all by himself. I suppose it could have been worse. No one offered to open him up. Still, you see someone on the train with a small brown bear sticking out of a pink powerful gril bag and well, it has to be me. I am told there are only some many people out there willing to travel with bear. I wonder if I can find one of Howard's old bow ties.

*Actually Howard didn't stay at home. He went to Boston with the significant other and met many post-graduate students of English Lit. Did a lot of dancing and was in general, the life of the party. Howard, I hate to say it, is quite the debonair bear.