My grand luck continues: The bicycle broke down under me, or, rather ‘us’, getting the kid to daycare. Thankfully – luck? – we weren’t thrown off the thing. All came down to my not securing the safety bolts properly, after replacing the rear tyre. ‘Zen and the art of bicycle maintenance’. I continue to fail miserably. ~~~ I wish the old man had taught me some more stuff. Well… Did he, any? Of course he did, he must have. Some mathematics, I recall. But, well, I wish he’d been more practical. I remember spending a lot of time by myself taking stuff apart; an old clock, a dashboard. But though I tried I never learned how to put it together again. I think, up to a certain point of our being five or six we were under wings, but then it stopped, and we had to work things out for ourselves. I recall coming home from school at age sixteen, fucked up and confused and unhappy and so lonely, and beginning to cry in front of my mother, soon enough retiring to the other end of the living room where she couldn’t see it, but still I was certain she was aware that I was there and in misery. But she couldn’t bring it upon herself to do something, to comfort me somehow. And this at age sixteen. Shit wonder I so took to Holden Caulfield. Point being, I would’ve liked, would’ve benefitted from, some more support back then. I should’ve asked for it, of course, all kids do. “How do I…” – “What’s that…?”. But I was kinda nervous being around my father, because _he_ was never that much around. At one point I discovered an old Scaletrix model racing cars circuit, y’know the ones with two race cars able to race along each other, fueled by electricity from the metal-shins(?) lowered into the surface track. Must’ve been mine at one time, or something granddad had dug out of some skip and dragged back, for such a man was he. Well the thing was rusty as hell, and the rust ran through the entire track and prevented the power from running through. And I remember expressing the desire to make it work again, to which end the old man gave me a piece of sand paper and urged me to get rid of the rust. You should’ve done it with me, for Christ sake! This was just the kind of thing a father and son would do together!! But I guess it wasn’t for him. I’ll try not to be unjust; he probably did some other things for and with me. Though sure as shit he wasn’t around the way I am for my own little girl. And it bothers me now because I can’t seem to make something, any damn thing, work, bothers me because my wife urges me to call on someone to fix things because she senses my insecurity and can’t trust me to do stuff right. Because I so badly want to learn how to do these things, these physical things, build stuff, repair stuff, but I try and try and the results are usually putrid. I don’t want to be good at simply breaking down walls and what else, I want to build them up again, the way I want them to be. And taking the time to learn them right is taking away time from my little girl – for they do take time, don’t they. But I also want her to be safe in the know that her dad can do these things, so she’ll come to me, her own dad, when there’s something she needs fixed. And I guess she won’t be impressed with, say, a bicycle breaking down, one her dad spent a lot of time trying to fix. I’m not that proud of myself, truth be told. I’m a bit lost in this. I’m wasting any number of resources away. Time, money, energy. Not very proud of myself. Not at all proud of myself. ~~~ Did a long working day, spent the night in the boss’ basement. Tomorrow Wednesday. Am hoping for a quiet day.