Thursday, August 29, 2013

Treat Yo Self

Tomorrow, in the second city, we will be doing just that.
It's been an interesting week where past decisions have come back to, well, not bite me as is the usual thing, but help me out. I managed to get quite a bit of money back from something and get a job that I interviewed for last year. Basically, they remembered me and just offered it too me. This means no more commuting and back to walking to work. So, yeah, TREAT YO SELF will now be a thing with me, my brother and the lady fair.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Done Yesterday

"I want it done YESTERDAY!" Screamed Tims boss, using a tone and volume was completely unnessicary and ultimately embarrassing.
Tim left for work that evening, still mulling over the chewing out he had been the victim of. 
Tim wasn't his job. Tim had goals and dreams beyond stats and spreadsheets. He slumped onto his sofa, still replaying the scene. (Sometimes in different styles; film noir, cartoon and musical being just three)
After dinner, he ventured into his garage. He whipped the cover from his invention. Tim had been building a time machine in his spare time and, as he took a big swig from his bottle of Liver Kicker, he decided that tonight would be the night to test it out. 
With his bosses dressing down ringing in his eras, he stepped into the machine, hit some buttons and vanished in a flash of brilliant blue-ish light.
Returning to work the next day, Tim had a spring in his step. He had made everything better. 
As he sat at his desk, he smiled to his new boss who greeted him with a warm smile. 
Unknown to his colleagues, Tim had travelled back in time, to a few years prior, and ran over his future superior with a big car. 
"Job done" Tim said to himself. Next trip, he would go back in time and punch Hitler in the face. First, it was time for a vending machine coffee.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Everything is Fine

Me and my good friend, C (to the) J (to the) Hixon have been meeting up on the audio airwaves of the internet to banter and put together a potential show. I've never really been one for talking and trying to be funny but with certain people (both of whom are well versed in the art of Podcasting) it's more comfortable and ultimately fun.
'Everything Is Fine' was fun to make and really good fun to listen to. I actually didn't hate my voice or what I said. Comfort. Comfort is the key.
Between writing certain things, some of which I am looking to film next month, these experiments really help to power up beyond the 9 to 5, which will always be there but easier to deal with these days. I've been fluking upwards.



Monday, August 05, 2013

Imaginary Kingdoms

“Come on, do something! Do something!” he says excitedly, jumping on the spot and playfully punching me on the arm. It was annoying three minutes ago and, five minutes of looping audio and motivational hitting, it’s getting painful.
The thing is, I can’t really stop him. To do so would cause me to look strange. You see, this bar is crowded, I’m sat alone and no one else can see Charlie. If I yell at him, I’m going to look like a crazy person. (Which I am, of course, but I don’t want the scattered patrons to know that)
Charlie wants me to, in his words, “buck my fucking ideas up” which is something (minus the swearing) my Grandpa used to say when he felt people were wallowing. Charlie knows that because I know that. That’s the thing about imaginary friends, most of their views and opinions are rehashed. He’s telling me what I already know. I know my ideas need to be ‘bucked up’ but, you know, where to start?
Charlie stops and slumps down into the empty seat opposite. He starts drumming on his legs, unable to keep still. I wish I had his imaginary energy.
“You can’t keep living like you’re living now” he says, looking around the bar. “Because it’s not really living is it?”
He’s right. In a way, we both are. I know things are bad right now. I know that I need to start pushing out the negative stuff and pulling in the good but it’s easier said than done. When you fall into a rut, the rut gets bigger.
Charlie starts to waffle with what seems like a thousand words a minute. It’s hard to keep up. I just want to finish my drink (which is pretty flat actually) and go to sleep. When I’m asleep, I can at least dream of a better position in life. A few dreams ago, I was the captain of a space ship and my crew were all witty, tough and dependable and nothing like the people in my office who are bitchy, weak-willed and mostly racist.
Charlie talks about old times. Old times for Charlie consist of a fantastical, imaginary world I created, a world he was born from. In reality, I was running around my Grandparents garden with a plastic sword. I loved it but Charlie loved it more. After I grew up and started living in reality, there were no magical realms, no princesses to save and no Charlie.
Until today, when he emerged from I don’t know where, pissed off at being forgotten about and incredibly angry about the man I have become.  He doesn’t understand. How could he? I don’t understand and that’s the reason I’m here, drinking alone with my old friend.
“We used to be adventurers! Do you remember that time we fended off that Cyclops? We faced a powerful opponent that day but we defeated him. Do you remember that?”
I do. I found a sword that was powerful enough to pierce his chest and puncture his heart. It was pretty convenient but it was tea time and I had to wrap things up.
“We should do that again sometime” Charlie says.
I want to tell him that it can’t happen because a grown man running around, talking to himself is a sure fire way to end up where my Uncle did.
“They all miss you there” he says, with a weird, reflective calm. He then stares out of the window. Everything is quiet now.  I feel bad because he feels bad.
“Fine”
His eyes widen. A huge smile.
“How do we do it?”
I am talking to myself in a bar. People don’t seem to notice, or care. (Good for them and I hope they enjoy their meals)
Imagine this, a grown man, newly purchased plastic sword in hand, running around the park; laughing and yelling. Picture it, a worn down office worker; stuck in a rut with no real hope, swinging a bright yellow sword with a glee not known for many, many years.
People passing by, joggers and such are confused by the sight. They have every right to be, of course. I would be too if I were them. But, you know, I can’t think about that now, I’m with my best friend, catching up on lost time and saving our kingdom.

Aloofus, Aloofus...

So, it’s 2018. I’m staring down the barrel of my 40’s but with the same goofy mindset I honed in my 20’s. Mentally, it doesn’t feel as bad a...