In college I wrote a weekly humor column every Friday for my University paper. When you write a humor column you're writing to entertain and so you work at it. Nothing like what I'm doing here, but I'm thinking maybe I should change my direction now that I've retired and I have the time to slip into some insane writing plan that involves, well, story line, closer attention to the days happenings (Ms. Emmy has thrown up a fur ball!) and attention to an audience.

You're too lazy for that.

Yeah, but if I really do give up all this horsing around in Irish bars I'm going to need to fill my vacant (clear headed, capable of thought) hours with something challenging.

Naps. The tradition is naps. The more the merrier.

I thought you did that in like your seventies when you're really old and grey. I figure I've got, if I'm lucky, maybe very lucky, another five years of hopping out of bed in the morning and picking up a camera, chatting with the ladies over breakfast, reading the paper and setting out into the wilderness in search of adventure. Five years goes like the wind, better get on with it.

I hate to say this, but you're suited to naps and the occasional walk around Lake Merritt.

Self, we've been together on this journey for a long time, but I'm thinking we may be coming to a parting. You take the naps, I'll take the highway.

There are other words that describe a “parting with yourself”, none of which necessarily describe a happy ending.

Perhaps we could describe it as “getting out of our comfort zone”, something I keep being told is a necessary thing. I guess “getting out of our comfort zone” involves breaking old relationships before you can form new ones. Depressing, but necessary. Life's like that, I guess. Complaints, but no regrets.

Divorcing your “Self” seems a strange way of saying it.