No. Not that. Not the annual goldfish either. Me. Hm. That title isn't great.

My first journal of the new year. Momentous.

I've been writing again recently and its drawing me back in like an old, comfortable sofa with my bodies perfect imprint accepting me back in the way that you slot in the last piece of a puzzle. It's also inspired more reading, which I'll get onto more in a moment. Otherwise i'm just lurking around here on dA, a phantom that takes but does not give. I'm getting a move on looking for work early (now, in fact) for this season, its starting well but we'll see what happens there (other than inevitably dragging me away from writing yet again, like a poor kitten grabbed by the scruff of the neck, reaching to its mother. I'll be sold on to an unloving family. They'll feed me on the cheapest packet of crap and milk me for all I'm worth, then throw me out again when they've had their fill. God I hate work.) not everyones recruiting yet, but considering all the jobs that have been lost in recent times I'm expecting competition to be even more fierce.

So anyway. I just finished reading Black Edelweiss by Johan Voss (psuedonym, real name unknown). It's a terrific read of a member of the Waffen-SS serving in Finland in the latter stages of the second world war, then moved to the western front. The book was written in an american PoW camp in 1946 but only recently published, thereby containing all the youthful freshness without the dry historical hindsight and background knowledge of a later text. The author does an excellent job of gaining empathy and really made me feel a sense of frustration at the depiction of the SS (and german soldiers in general) both then and now. The book really gives an insight into a different world and the authors developing opinions as his war experience progresses tells alot about the German soldier of the time. The most important point I picked up on personally was a regular referral to the lack of choice on wether to fight or surrender. Not because of the Nazi institution but because of the Allies declaration on requiring unconditional surrender. This gave the author at least a resolve to keep on fighting without complaint, since surrender at this point couldn't save them a thing. I've read more on the Allies demand for unconditional surrender recently but Johan Voss' opinion tells more than any historians politicking could.

Anyway, I could keep going but I won't. I seem to be becoming obsessed with the second world war, but I'm moving on from simple tactics and battles to really understanding what was going on. Lets leave it at that before I get boring again.

I just watched 'The Diving Bell And The Butterfly'. A fantastic French film I'll recommend to everyone. I was originally enticed by the title, but it has nothing to do with diving. Put simply it's about a man who has a stroke and is paralysed in all but his left eye. It's a true story about his life and based upon his memoirs. It's very powerful and the acting is strong. Luckily it's not constantly sad and I even laughed a few times, everything about it seems well structured so I advise you to go watch it.

In other news I'm reading Berlin by Antony Beevor (That guy who wrote Stalingrad. Pretty famous book on a pretty famous city.) I never enjoyed Stalingrad that much, but honestly I only bought it because it came cheap with Berlin, the battle for which I know nothing about. Yet for some reason I never actually got round to reading it. So far its very interesting and a much better book.

Right now I can spot six books I've yet to read. I should pile them up or something. Yet yesterday on [link] I selected about 20 I want to buy (I shall have to write to santa) so basically I need to pick up on reading more, I've slackened off too much.

Anyway. That's that.

Life's a funny thing, my mate said earlier, before he left. Well I ain't laughing.

Nothing seems to be going the way it should. Childish dreams are forgotten each time my head hits the pillow. I'm a lazy shit wishing I was worthwhile and knowing I won't be.

I know that sounds pathetic, but I'm learning to accept that I will never be more than average. Why should I be? Because everyone once told me I would be?

So why don't I do something about it? What is there to fucking do? Why does it have to sound so easy on paper, and then when you think right, here's the plan, it never seems to happen?

In five months I'll be twenty. That's fucking scary. I need to move away, far away, and do something. But that seems even scarier. It's only me holding myself back. I guess that's the worst bit, I'm the problem, so how did I ever think I could find a solution?

I've been trying to update my journal for a while now. Closest I got was a few days ago when I wrote out a whole swathe of finely placed vocabulary. Then I ran off, and without thinking, closed the screen losing it all.

Now I just want to go to bed but I know I wont have time to really bother with this for the next 3 days minimum, so why not splash one out for the hell of it?

Work is calming down alot and I'm back in the market for a winter/christmas position. Since I have pretty much no sales experience it might be a bit more difficult, but I'm sure I'll manage something.

With alot of my mates all gone back to uni I've got more alone time, which serves well for reading and writing. I've finally managed to read Master and Commander, looking forward to picking up the next book in the series by Patrick O'Brian. Right now I'm in the middle of Sabriel by Garth Nix (Not overly amazed but could be alright, only real fault its aimed at a younger audience than me) and Lankhmar by Fritz Leiber (loved every minute so far. Pure fantasy goodness.) In terms of writing I might even submit something soon, but I won't promise, because I'd probably end up breaking it.

Well thats all I really wanted to say. Not as well put as it was the last time I tried, but it'll do for now. Need me some sleep, tomorrow should be a long day then I'm back to work for the weekend. Then next week be building an extension onto the back of the shed (it's a pretty great shed mind you, couple days work. Effectively a house.)

Yeah. Cya later.

The other night I had a dream with all sorts happening. As usual, I've forgotten the majority of it. But there's one part that still sticks in my mind. I remembered it the morning after, and it still hasn't faded. For me, that's pretty special, so I thought I'd share and also make record that I remembered something for more than a couple of days.

This was the end of the dream sequence, just before I woke up. I was in a building, spartan of furniture. It was a three-roomed building designed in a row, so that to get from either end room to the other end room you had to go through the middle room, or go outside. All rooms had outer doors. In one end room there was a pile of hay or straw, a great big mound of it, yet it took up little space despite all the rooms being small (as is the way with dreams).

Inside there is a woman. Her face is blurry, except that she has bright blond, long and ringleted hair. Her body is something to covet, and I suspect her face is too. Ultimately she's a combination of everything I would call attractive (as is the way with women in dreams).

She's going cold turkey in this building. Remote, out of the way, isolated. She's in agony. There's a group of us there, though noone stands out, and we all try to help her how we can. But of course, there's nothing we can do. We don't even know what to do. She's throwing up, curled in a weak, shaking ball. SHe's hugging her knees and I remember that her eyes are red and teary and angry as she looks at me as I try to help. She's inside the pile of hay, and now someone else arrives. It's an unidentifiable man. Just a man. He's come to help. He crouches down and talks to her, and all I know is that he knows what to do. The hard work and pain seems to disappear (as is the way with difficulty in dreams).

Now she's better. She's smiling and looks every bit healthy. We both jump into a lake at the bottom of the hill near the building. The water isn't warm or cold. It doesn't sting my open eyes as I stare into hers. My vision isn't impaired and I can see the bubbles rushing from our bodies, fresh into the water. It isn't cold. The only hint that we're underwater is the picturesque coral reef behind her. We swim around together, beneath the surface, ignoring the fact that we cannot breathe.

Then I woke up. It's made me think about friends I've given up on. Made me wonder if they've found the help they needed. Why did I never try to find them the help? Why couldn't it be easy, and some bloke just turn up and fix things back to the way they were?

I'm also wondering if it hasn't changed somewhat over the time that I've had it stored in my mind. I know more happened in the building that I can't remember about. I also know I lied when I said I didn't recognise the woman. She was more specific than that. I know exactly who she is, and her body is just as perfect as I suggested.

Anyway, I'm kinda tired so... I'll leave you with that insight into my slumber world.