The want to write and create is somehow off set by the mummer of the documentary on UFOs somewhere behind me. Added to this, the knowledge that at some point, I have to take the bin through the week old snow to the top of the road is another nail in the coffin of self expression. 
I've stopped now to think and the flow gets stilted. It's like I have to mentally unfocus my mind, just let my fingers move and the words come. They don't necessarily make sense but the more I do it the more I realise they don't have to. Let all this be without plot as life itself is. Let all tumble forth in unlisted and uncollected nonsense. The key to it is don't aim for a theme, leave that to those who tell me what I should be listening to and watching, how I should view others' behaviour and be aghast at the demise of western civilisation. It's not new. Time and before the same outrage at it all. This too shall pass, like all else.  Yawns and brushing back of hair. The bin waits and I must answer the call of the coloured receptacle that ,as we speak, holds the remains of my consumerism. The bones of my processed prey in glass and plastic. Again the flow stops, too much thinking and reading of what I've written. Those who would view this and expect lucid comment I apologise . This isn't for you. 
The bin waits no longer. The trudge through the underlit gloom must happen. 
As much as we try to stop it, the cold of the this alien winter seeps through the bricks and  slowly,will cover us in our sleep.

Cup o Tea...

When I was small, This used to terrify me and draw me at the same time.
A scarecrow with a mind of its own,  an old man with a black top hat, dirty black suit  who seemed to inhabit hedgerows but had power over him and other scarecrows, who would appear at certain times, and behave like the now over used undead. I remember one episode when our  hero was called before a scarecrow court for some scarecrow themed crime.Possibly vegetable based or looking through a window in the dead of night type felony. That was the one that sticks in my head, the one with the other scarecrows. They came to bring him to his trial.  Stiff figures appeared through the corn like their present day  contemporaries, silent and dead eyed. I remember sitting and watching as they lumbered through the dry stalks. Their only purpose the apprehension of said strawy criminal.  Perhaps this instance was the start of my fascination with the passed on who rise up to plague the living. The origin of my dreams of resisting  the masses of grey and rotting all the sames who want to include me in their team.

One thing about him though, was his ability to change heads. A different head for different situations.  I don't know whether or not the intention was there, whether or not the writers were trying to say something about the nature of fitting in but  as I'm now a grown up, I find I'm doing exactly the same thing. 
It's now completely acceptable for me, as part of my own scarecrow society, to wear a work head, a weekend head , an out with people from work head and all the other heads I have for all the situations I could find myself in. It's expected of me.
 Should I want to wear one head all the time, well, that's when the problems start. What if I have the wrong head for the wrong day? What if my weekend head won't come off and I walk in on any given Monday with slightly the wrong attitude? Will it all come crashing down around my wrong head? I doubt it. It hasn't so far and I've worn the wrong head to more than one occasion before now. The possible truth is that  all my heads have the same ideas. They just come out randomly, regardless of the situation and not as The Crowman would always like them to.

More worrying than having to have numerous heads, is the fact that some other scarecrows only seem to have  the one worky head. This one, they never seem to take off and seem bent on trying to fill mine with their ideas on how I should think and be. Other scarecrows seemed to have no ideas in theirs. What's the Crow man going to do about that? He could try and fill them with his but he needs straw filled turnip heads like me for that.

Let's see which head I have on tomorrow.
 I'm hoping for the Cup o tea and slice of small group size one....
  

I have decided to be more positive about things this year. 

When returning from Christmas break and being faced with the straightforward "you don't want this job , do you "? as my friend and colleague was, there is little response other than the blatantly obvious or the tactfully deflective.
 We are all agreed , they have been taking classes on how to further demotivate people who have had enough of watching them fiddle while it all goes up in smoke. 

First step towards positivity, fuck it, it'll take care of itself...or lets all apply for other jobs.
Unfortunately, I cannot live on dreams and have a spouse , cat and dog to consider, so striding about the land delivering pearls of wisdom whilst wearing robes and sporting a beard big enough to strap under my belt is out of it.  Pity that, I feel I'd take to it rather well.

So, It's back to plan B, if ever I had one. 

1. Write more for me and then put it in a chest to be discovered after my death and then be hailed as a prophet well before my time.
2. Continue to play the game in the supposed real world and look for something else to do that's slightly less like working for The Job Centre, even though I don't .
3. Try to live more in the moment and not dream my life away. This is the most difficult because I've been doing it the longest.
4. Act on my ideas, not just think about it. 

Do I really want this job......seriously ?