Motivate

or "And I would be the one to hold you down..."

8 Feb 2010

There is a recurring idea in Sci Fi and Fantasy – based no doubt on all traditions and legends stretching back through and past the bible to prehistoric times – of possession. Be it alien consciousnesses or demonic control, the idea of being trapped in a corner of your mind whilst some other presence decides what happens to your body is something that comes back again and again. Clearly there is a deep seated

fear in many of us that the very things we take for granted the most – the fact that we decide what happens to us as no one else – can be taken away from us.

Unfortunately, this has just happened to me. I’ve been possessed by a lazy fucker.

There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to prise myself free of this chair. Or maybe I’m already doing something. Maybe I’m not being ruled by a slob, but because I’m fighting it I’m interfering with my body’s new owner’s plan for world domination, causing my depleted form to just slump here unable to motivate itself to do more than unscrew the top of a bottle of Irn Bru and swing gently from left to right on my office chair. And even that’s making me feel a bit breathless.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. One minute I’m fine, and full of energy and purpose, the next I’m eating chocolate biscuits and staring listlessly at my computer screen. Aliens. They’re to blame. Possibly the same ones that rule the world according to David Icke. But I’m not sure. It can’t be my fault anyway.

I’m wondering if that’s going to help me later when my boss asks how I’m getting on with my work. “I’m doing fine,” I might say. “I’m not so sure about the aliens who’ve been possessing my body. I have a sneaking suspicion that they’re not very efficient, and have left a lot of things undone. Perhaps you should give them a written warning?” I work in a very nurturing organisation – I’m sure they’d understand and try to help.

…but! Who will they try to help? I’ve just told them that I’m fine! What if it’s the aliens they worry about? They might take the view that they ought to assist the possessors. I don’t want the thousand tiny extra-terrestrial consciousnesses ruling my brain to benefit from the in-house Employee Assistance Counselling programme! Next they’ll be enjoying the subsidised lunch and flexi time arrangements. I’ll make a plan to take Friday afternoon off, look at my flexi sheet and find that the aliens took all of Wednesday off and now have to work 10 hours a day to get all the time back.

There’s only one thing to do. If by fighting it I can make my body do nothing but stare at the computer screen, I should be able to drive the aliens out. All I need to do is load up endless pages from the “Twilight” saga on my monitor, and then force the aliens to read them. A couple of hours of that and their tiny souls will shrivel and die, and their desiccated husks will blow away on the breeze that blows between my ears.

Naturally, I’ll die too. There’s no way a human brain can stand that much “Twilight”. But mutually assured destruction was Government policy for decades, so who am I to argue.

Right you bastards. Die!!