Two days: Goodbye, Iorek.

Goodbye Iorek, my bear, my love, my flame. If you were a smaller bear, I would fold you in my suitcase, put mittens on your claws. Airport security will never know.

But a bemittened bear is a humiliated bear. I could not ask you to humiliate yourself. Not you, Iorek.

You must maintain dignity in my absence. Rule with a mighty paw my kingdom of lesser bears, action figures, and My Little Ponies.

I will see you when the seasons have changed thricely. Actually, twicely. Thricely sounds better though, so let us pretend, Iorek, that May 19th--my birthday--is a season all its own.

Farewell, Iorek, and please, please do not be offended that I am taking The Unamed Tiger in your stead. He is nothing to me, my cuddly seal-slayer. Small animals are always changing, and are never named. You call them Pamela, and a year later it's "Call Me Jessica."

You know what comes after "Call me Jessica", Iorek?

"Call me Brittney." "Call me Angela. "

"Arwin."

My kingdom is not a vague, fan-made adaptation of Middle Earth. It is a season all its own.

It is your season, Iorek. Be sure to keep my cactus watered. My Of Montreal albums listened to.

Oh, and Iorek: Get the hell in my suitcase.