Back when I was working radio in Anchorage, (I say that as if it was eons ago) our country station did a local singer-songwriter contest. It was honestly my favorite promotion. Nothing makes for a perfect night quite like a few beers and really good live music. The contest was a multiple-week, battle-of-the-bands type promotion. The artists would do whatever song they submitted, then a cover, and then an original song. Each artist was also required to give the judges the lyrics for the original song.

This one band, whose name escapes me at the moment, had what became a very special song at my radio station. I believe the title of the song was "The Bear." The lyrics were playful, yet had a deeper meaning for life...or at least I like to believe they did.

It became a favorite at my office for a stanza in the middle of chorus:
"Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you."

For whatever reason, everyone would always giggle when that phrase was muttered. If someone would start complaining about how horrible their day was, I would drop that line at the end of their story. This would most frequently result in both of us laughing, and I think happier for the rest of the day.

Today started earlier than normal, as Mark needed the car. Yes, we're sharing a car. No, it's not all that bad. As I walked towards the base locker room after a nice sweaty run, I'm hit with the sudden realization that I forgot to pack a towel. Sh!t. I have to be at work in thirty minutes and definitely need a shower. After pacing the locker room, debating how many people would see me "air drying it" post-shower, I brilliantly decided to use my t-shirt as a towel. It sort of worked.

The rest of the day is mundane. It's a Monday. On a side note, I never understood the hatred of Monday. It's a day and it happens every week. Deal with it.

After work, I leash up the pup and take him for a quick walk before picking up Mark. About halfway back to the house, Jackson does his business. As I reach for said business with a bagged hand, my fingers feel something soft and warm. I look down and see that the dog chewed a hole in my bag. Disgusted, I wipe my fingers on the grass and try to hold them as far away from my body as possible.

I continue my walk home and I can't help but chuckle - sometimes the bear eats you...