My disposition is not by nature one that tends toward cheerfulness. In any given situation the first thing I am most likely to experience is an overwhelming cascade of sadness, of melancholy, of lost hope and lives lived without joy. Often these impressions are faulty or unreliable, but it is the way in which I am wired, apparently; I cannot help but be overcome by an immobilizing sense of sorrow in every environment I encounter, and even an awareness that things are almost certainly not as bad as I am understanding them to be only makes the situation worse, because how terrible am I if where others are leading normal, relatively fulfilling lives, all I can perceive is a wave of profound hopelessness that pervades all and covers the bright spots with darkness? That being said, even I cannot listen to the grim and lifeless voice of the narrator in this story without thinking, “He’s laying it on a bit thick there, isn’t he?” I get it, the polar bear is sad. You know what? We all are.