And That’s Far Out

SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB!

I feel like I’ve crossed the picket line and I’m being bussed to the mines.  

You know, like that scene out of Billy Elliot. Every time I see that scene – “He’s just a boy!” – I well up. Or as Bernie Mack would say, my eyes start sweating.

SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB!

Fitting name really, because I’ve been picking at the corners of shitty thoughts trying to put something down for about an hour now without much success.

SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB!

Putting something down on paper is made harder by the fact that the bastard who owns the flat upstairs is doing renovations.  

Well, he’s not doing the renovations.  He’s hired a bunch of blokes to do it.  

By the sounds of things, they’re trying to drill to the centre of the earth, but have decided to start on the 6th floor of my building.

I can see them in the reflection of the neighbouring building’s windows. Big burly men, shirts off, cigarettes pinched between their lips.  

I want to tell them to please, please, please, please, please, fucking fuck off.  

I hope you can swear in these things.

SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB!

I want to avoid the temptation of writing about how nervous I am – because I am nervous – for the year to come.  

I want to avoid the temptation to go all introspective and talk about how I will have to fight through days where I lack confidence, have creative blocks, and question whether I possess even a shred of creativity.  

I want to focus on the fact that this is amazing. 

I got onto a course, a fantastic course that’s led by people with first-hand experience in an industry I want to be a part. An industry that’s exciting and brimming with creativity and possibility.

I’m amped to be reading new, interesting books. Learning about things I’ve never heard of. And, getting to grips with incredibly powerful and intimidating software.

Really, all I can think of is that no matter what happens in 10 months’ time, I will be finishing a course that will have made me a better in some way.  

Maybe I don’t go on to be the next Neil French or Richard Foster – jeez Louis could those dudes write good ad copy – but, I’ll be me with a whole heap of something new to put to use, and that’s far out.

SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB! SCAB!123