Finally, finally managed to write some more in the evening. Have laid dormant for some days. Not good for one who wants his play done by Christmas. Did a good scene. Liked it myself, anyways. Which, I guess, is what counts. At least, what counts first. Went to work and, in a pause, checked my homebank for an account-statement. Seem to have, parden the expression, raped my credit card at that aforementioned night out. Financial hangover. The moral ones may present themselves soon enough: Received a strange e-mail from Bo, pondering my membership to this merry group of gamers I’ve mentioned before, in some other entry. Thought he knew. Apparently not. By his phrasing same mail, it tells he’s not thrilled about it. Feel a Mexican stand-off coming on. Focus on the ‘feel’ as opposed to ‘fear’ I would’ve probably come up with a year ago. In other words, what the hell is it to him what I do with my time. If he’s starting up on that loyalty-shit again, I’ll be more than happy to leave him to it. No sense in getting involved – now that I’ve – yes, finally – gotten my money back from him. If so, the timing will be decent. About to be a father, yes, about to get serious again with my time and resources. For Christ’ sake, you walk in his apartment and there’s compadre Bruno and himself, looking up and down their computer-screens for porn, exchanging lewd remarks and, God, playing a porn-film continuously on the DVD-player. What the hell’s that all about? Is this me? Not in a millions years. ~~~ So, where to begin… Should I be the best to know, I haven’t the faintest idea. Except… Maybe the small parts. Maybe with those lightning-fast parts I do manage to remember, everything despite. Can’t say that I count them in the hundreds or even tens. But, again, maybe they’ll increase in number as I progress? For this, I would like to allow myself to hope. So – what do I remember? I’ll start small. Small moves, right? So here it goes: ~~~ I’m two or three years old, rummaging through the house in that small town around Viborg. What’s the name? Løvel. Somehow I’ve managed to ascend to the second floor, and I’m looking down into the yard, with the tiny garden behind it. I remember the arrangement of it. And remain quite positive I’m seeing my mother down there, shifting the earth and tending to exactly that, the arrangement. Gravelled yard, and it’s a rainy day, drops on the window. Sis is there, I think, beside me, doing what I’m doing, looking down. There’s a view over the land, but it’s quite grey and murky. It’s fall: the fields are black and dark green, and there’re no leaves on the trees. That’s where it leaves me, with that view across the open fields. About as much as I remember about that time. Some four, first years of my life. Here mum would be around twenty-four or five, the old man a bit further down the line but not much. What were their ambitions here? If any? I know she took courses in childcare. I know in some of those years she ran a day-care business, which is why we, Sis and I, thence forward learned to call them ‘Jonna’ and ‘Martin’ so as to not fuck up the other kids’ minds by referring to them as ‘mum’ and ‘dad’. And that’s about all. Soon I’ll learn more about the reasoning behind her actions. By way of interview. This next Friday when I go back once more and help them set up an access to the Information Highway known as the Internet. Never talked with her – or him, for that matter – about these things. Now the time has come to do it, and document it. For my own good – literally. Will make the time to stop by that yellow house (drove past, once). ~~~ What makes me recall this image as one of the first to ever lock into its place in my mind? It’s a crude guess, but I think it was because of that view on the horizon. A first glance as the possibilities – possibly for lack of a better word – of an endless World. Which is how it must have seem to me at the time. ~~~ Tomorrow Wednesday. Am hoping for a quiet day.