Fair Warning

Ed is not a happy bunny.
Ed is getting remarkably close to a very large sense of humour failure.

This week I have had shit from SINergy, that I didn't really need.
At work, I've had a lot of stuff that has urgently needed doing, but none of it was even remotely interesting - filling numbers in on spreadsheets.
I have had my cash/switch card cancelled on saturday. I have been informed today that they managed to spell my name wrong on the replacement, so it will be another two weeks before I get access to my bank account.
And I have had council tax arrears, which as far as I was aware, had been dealt with, passed over to a bailiff firm.

I'm giving the second half of a training course this afternoon. Judging by how boring this morning was, it's not going to go well.

It would not be a good idea to piss me off, or otherwise wind me up at this time.

The fall of dreams

When we are children, dreams are like crystal sculptures. Delicate and beautiful. We set them on a high pedestal for others to admire, and because they catch the light and are so pretty.

Gradually though, things change. The chill wind of time blows, the harsh withering glare of reality or the crushing blow of betrayal. The fact that the world is not as we might wish it knocks the dream from it's pedestal.

It falls, and catches the light, shining with the inner light of hope. Like a star, falling from the skies. It crashes to the floor and smashes into a myriad of pieces.

Scattered across the cold stone floor.

Pieces lost.

A cruel mockery of the beauty that was.

Sometimes they fall alone, sometimes all at once. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. But they fall. The fragments of our dreams lay scattered at our feet.

And gradually, the will returns. We scoop up the pieces, and try and reassemble those things of such rare beauty. Our best efforts are never enough.

We put them back together, and have a dream once more. Sometimes it's close to the original, sometimes it's something new entirely. But we're nagged by the sensation that maybe it's not quite complete, that perhaps something was lost forever when it fell last, or that it's not quite as sound as it might have been.

We do not set this dream so high. Maybe we are less proud, or maybe we're just a little more wary, and don't want it to fall so far. Or perhaps we don't want to set it so far out of reach.

We fear for this dream to fall, but still want to hold it high and admire the glimmering light within.

Sooner or later, this dream too will fall. And cast its pieces on the floor once more. What happens on the day that we give up?

We cannot face rebuilding these things of beauty once more. The fact that it gives us the light of inspiration is no longer enough to balance the pain brought by it's destruction.

We give up our dreams, and lay there on the floor, surrounded by the shards of 'might have been'.

Condemned by ourselves.