The movie: “Something’s gotta give”. Two and a half hours of Nancy Meyers. Felt like forty-five minutes too much routine. Was of course never meant to hurt anyone, and sure enough, it didn’t. Clearly focused towards the over-fifties market; think we were the youngest there. Guess we sat in on the wrong movie; neither of us got much from it apart from the trailer-laughs. So good thing we got there early; fifty crowns a pop was the attendance. Would’ve been more expensive in the later afternoon. ~~~ Why am I no longer so scared? Let me not make it out to sound as if I’m carefree as a bird. For that I’m not. Certainly not. But the cries in my head have subsided to a reasonable degree. One I would have bargained my right arm for, a while back. I don’t wanna jinx it, or anything, it’s just… What has changed? I look around and the only thing I notice, is the screenwriting. And it seems to damn unlikely to me if that ole’ hobby should seem so soothing to the anxiety which a half a year ago or more had me believe I would not live to this date. So… What gives? To which extend have I made friends with these shocking emotions of my past? I grasp the effect of them, but I guess their cause eludes me still. Effects… I’m less jundgmental. It’s like she wrote in that book I read, on bringing kids into the World, you might find yourself weaker, less antagonistic, but also more sensitive, understanding. I’d say she knew what she was on about, for that’s a perfect description of how I feel. Weaker. Poor choice of phrasing. Let’s say I find myself less inclined to disregard those who I find no immediate intent in regarding. As would’ve been the case before all of this. Before I was picked up and shaken around, up-side down. Put back down with little sense of direction. Which, for all it seems, I still lack. Don’t really know for certain where the heck I’m going with this or that, so am grasping for the immediate feel of it. So the screenwriting becomes therapy, yes, I accept that. And the idea of becoming a father takes me in to so many different places, given the numerous unknown factors involved herein. Losing touch with the subject now. Point to ponder: Has time caught up with me? Have I worried and wondered so much as to allow a sense of momentary tranquility, now that I’ve simply gotten used to it, and am beginning to run out of things to concern myself with? Seems unlikely, yet we all know the magic that time performs, simply by honoring itself. Whereever the answer may lie, I gather I’m about to soon enough focus on known factors, rather than unknown ones. And being highly curious as to the change that will bring about as well. Changes, changes… Looking in the mirror I spot wrinkles around my eyes, where before were none. Weaker, older, more experienced, looking like it. End of story, God no. ~~~ Forewent the rape-scene, thankfully. Yet will undoubtedly find other depravaties to descripe. Likely tomorrow Sunday. Few other things to do, actually. Am hoping for a quiet day.