Warm summer days to make one feel as young again. And wish one was a poet, so as to properly phrase these images inside a mind apt to take one back some fifteen years, or even twenty. As ever, it’s in the looking out from beyond the backseat of a car, noticing a shadow reminiscent of a prior recollection. A narrow lane kept straight by the bordering fields of gold that might easily take one back. A breath stolen from the wind, designed to resemble a familiar voice. And then even a bit of music to arrest the interest of one’s imagination, a willing offender. Of late I have, by chance I suppose, come to observe children around the age of five or six, playing among themselves. And this seems to draw me back further than I’ve experienced of a long late. A bit of time knocking on my door? Could be, couldn’t deny it. ~~~ Had my bicycle stolen, for the third or fourth time in this city. Did I mention the trouble I had in keeping air in the rear tire, perhaps I neglected this fact: A mere day beyond having the entire wheel replaced, the air shrank from the rear tire and I’ve had to pump the damn thing every morning, before I could ride the bike to work. Was waiting to liberate time to patch it up myself, the tire, then the bike was gone and I was a bit disappointed I never got that chance. Walked to and from work that day, in the evening made a round of the neighbouring blocks with the girlfriend, and, lo and behold, recovered the bike not five hundred yards from where I put it down the day before. A stroke of good luck on my part, especially since how I’d probably forgotten to lock it, the basic explanation to its disappearance. At any rate a bit of old fashioned luck, kept me in a good mood throughout the remainder of that day for sure. ~~~ Accompanied the girlfriend to a joint wedding and christening on Funen. A murky affair, if that’s the right word for it. For those inclined to thrive on these sort of social events, it’s probably a haven of opportunity. For yours truly it’s a source of bore, not much else. Or, allow me to rephrase; the conversation is banal, the music horrible. It’s really of no interest to me, yet by the accounts of others it seems vitally important I participate. When pressed for a reason I’m given a response I cannot clearly decipher. Yet I bare it with a smile, or what at the least feels like it on the day in question, if even it appears not so. Then by the end of it I seem to suffer the least by these events. By her own account she’s a victim of being overlooked, not apprecia­ted by the effort she puts in. I cannot and do not claim to fully understand (or accept) her relations, but I do know that visiting with them is not meant to bring as much concern and, much too often, tears to the eyes, as will happen. I think she’s being too forgiving, her reply to which is that it’s out of her hands. She only partially right and wrong. No matter the unpredictable behaviour, blood is thicker than water and will always be. But circumstances only up to a certain point excuse this kind of unpredictable behaviour from her mother. Or irrational behaviour, rather. Many issues are to be dealt with where first they appear, rather than at their origin. A fire certainly spreads out beyond its nesting place – comparison intended. At some point before my entrance upon the scene, I can tell it became to big to try and put out. So everyone have taken to standing around and spitting on it, trying not to make a proper stand, or even communicate how they feel. Is it too late, technically it never is. But this of course implies a willingness to reform, which is at present missing. Things will come to a head, I’m convinced. Hard to stand on the sideline in this. The potential is such it’ll split us up. I’ll regret this, less than for my own sake than for her, as I foresee it implies her submissiveness into what part her mother has in mind for her. And also because a change in ones life has best be brought about by one self, not determined by others. Easier to manage, I suppose, for one who has long past found this out. ~~~ Have managed to do away with some personal obligations, to be faced with a relative few in number, equal in priority: The completion of ‘Middlemarch’, by George Eliot, and the resurrec­tion of my studies. The first, I dare say, looks to bring me more pain than the latter. It short it’s a damn hard read, I think equal to the Moby Dick I had to give up. Can’t say I understand half of what I read, which adds a natural strain to my under­standing of the work. Also it’s so long, halfway in adds up to some four hundred pages or so. Will take me a good deal of time to kill, though by all indications I’m not wasting my time. Neither I hope will prove the case with the studies. Skipped the Autumn semester in favor of a restitution, brought on by a weariness of studies and the moving arrangements as well. And a few other things as well, though those two were the majors. At any rate. Time to get practical again, thankfully in the literal sense, as the last bit of studying involves a practical assign­ment. Have a bit of time left at work beyond the working day, waiting for the girlfriend to get home from her work; had to let my keys to her apartment go, in favor of the realtor she’s taken on. So will use that time to my advantage, get a head start on the next course project. ~~~ Tomorrow Monday. Am hoping for a quiet day.