The other day I got thinking. You know how it is. There comes a day you say to yourself that it has been rather a long time since you actually thought anything so you might as well go ahead and get the dashed thing over with. So I said to my self:
Me: "Self," I said, "life, if you come right down it, is a colossal washout. I am bored, and what is more I haven't seen a sparrow for months."
Self (sighing heavily): "Must you dither when I am enjoying life doing nothing? What about sparrows? Which sparrows? And, arising from that, why sparrows?"
Me: "Well, where are the dashed things?"
Self: "Search me."
Me: "Oh sure, and get all sorts of nasty things smeared all over my hands for the trouble. But seriously, have you not noticed the somewhat alarming absence of sparrows in this neighborhood?"
Self: "When you say 'this,' do you mean 'our'? I thought so. One never knows where one is with you. Yes, I have noticed that there are many, way too many, pigeons around. Shall I tell you something?"
Me: "No! I am not interested in any head-bobbing pigeons."
Self: "Once upon a time there was a sparrow that wanted to be duck. It wanted to be all yellow, webbed feet, and go quack in the lake. Well, much to its surprise one day it turned into a duck."
Me: "Oh yes?"
Self: "Absolutely. And the next day it got served as nourishing soup to someone who did not really like duck soup. Which just goes to show you that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with being a sparrow."
Me: "I never said there was. I just said there aren't that many around. What was the point of that little tale anyway? You start with pigeons and end up with ducks. You make no sense and you say that I dither."
Self: "That's a peach. A demand for sense coming from someone who has such engaging conversations with himself. Personally, I don't see any sense in worrying about a bunch of absentee birds. If they are not here, they are probably elsewhere. So what is your beef?"
Me: "I miss them. I haven't seen one hop for ages. Life is such a washout."
Self: "Because you don't see any sparrows? Quite the philosopher, aren't you? I suppose next you will say something even more trenchant on a topic utterly irrelevant and/or commonplace. You tire me. In fact, you tire me even when you are not tiring me, if you follow my drift. Like, right now, I am so tired I wish I could take a holiday from you, and your infernal sparrows."
Me: "You couldn't talk a bit less, could you?"
Self: "There. First you goad someone with questions and then you say they answer in too much detail. God, as someone said, is in the details."
Me: "Then god must love government contracts."
Self: "I suppose that by your, ha-ha, standards that constitutes humor? Oh well, some people just don't have it in them."
Me: "Have what?"
Self: "It!"
Me: "Oh go to the devil. I am going to get drunk."
Self (sighing heavily again): "So we will be seeing each other soon."
Me: "Darn right we will. And next time you had better have something pertinent to tell me about sparrows."
Self: "When will it end? When will it end?"
Me: "Here, have l'eau with a little something in it."
Self: "Ah, thank you." (downs it).
Me: "And now, as man to man, tell me, where are the sparrows?"
Self: Bounces empty glass on my head and walks away cursing sparrows and calling them wannabe ducks.
And that is one of the reasons I do not like to think. My self is not very cooperative with the process. Even when under the I.
