Left work early to deal with two meetings in relation to the Scanning company. That is, doing my own business on company time. Awfully guilty conscience, I get; I should donate them some of my holidays. Shit, I should call it quits on the private company altogether. Afraid I can’t do that. Visited with that Danish Newspaper “Information”, founded out of the resistance fight during the 2nd World War. I like that about them, about their history. Will have to make them an offer they hopefully won’t refuse on scanning that entire history and delivering them text-files into their content management system. That sure is a lot of pages to scan; I haven’t the foggiest on what kind of price I’ll present them with, but will try and work it out over the course of this weekend. The other meeting, a presentation of some software I put together to present, and search through, all that which we scanned for that other newspaper, ‘Tipsbladet’, bi-weekly soccer news magazine. Great, non-informal presentaion, to great effect, they were keen on it. They should be, it’s a bargain of 0,00 Danish crowns; though hopefully towards their desire to have more material scanned. That’ll be next year, I hope. Meanwhile presented them with the bill of the work done so far, some thirty thousand. So, yeah, things are looking okay. As long as few deals are in the bag, I won’t predict about next year, but I do merit the work, sales- and software-wise, I’ve managed so far, and anticipate easier times next year, when I’ll reap the benefits hereof. ~~~ Dumb scene in the evening, when I shouted at our daughter and forcibly carried her to her room as she wouldn’t stop screaming and my head was about to explode. The pedagogues in her Kindergarten informed V that she much often ends up having to ‘follow the leader’, in as much as her girlfriend Emma gets the last say in every game they play, and our young one lets her call all the shots because she doesn’t want the conflict – where this Emma girl, on the contrary, thrives on it. She’s apparently quite the little princess at home, calling way too many shots there as well. So our girl rarely gets a word in; so we decided on a strategy which will let her call some more shots here, at home, to compensate until she catches a second wind and dare stands up for her ideas, which I’m sure she soon will. We decided to let her call her own bed-time today, for instance, which is a good idea as such, but has the bad side-effect of rendering her hopelessly inadequite in judging her own body’s weary state. Sometimes she can, tonight she couldn’t, and she was in a bad mood because of it, complaining about every little thing. On top of that I had to deal with V, being throughly pissed off about a web-auction deal which had gone sour because they money she had transferred twice – 48 crowns – hadn’t gone through, only to her finding out she had gotten the destination account number wrong. So a lot of complaining there, over basically an insignificance. And kind of itch was apparently also driving her crazy, at least her complaints in this regard also reminded me throughout. In the end I couldn’t stand more of all that noise, all that complaining, and blew my top. 48 crowns, what the hell is she doing bitching like that over 48 crowns, when I can’t work out how to honor next month’s mortgage. I find it hard to cope with that. I get up at five, get back from the working day at half past three in the afternoon. We picked up our girl from the Kindergarden, both of us, and got back home. I rest for half an hour, then she feels it’s her time to go to sleep because she’s had a tough day, doing the grocery shopping and exercising and what not, so she retreats to the bedroom for an hour, whilst I play with our girl (took her downtown for dinner and a short bi-cycle ride by the lake, as the sun was setting). So we’re back at half seven, she gets up and I’m still the one playing with our child until it’s nearly Disney hour on the television, which lasts until weight… That’s, in my view, a very easy day for her! I know the hours are short when one is left to one’s own devices. And I know not all the days are like that. But when I’m faced with one, and I have to listen to some stupid 48-crown business she should be fucking able to handle without me having to double-check a bank account number for her, when I can’t work out how to deal with the mortgage, well I found it hard to control myself. And of course I had to explode and drag our kid into her room, so what else can she do but call on her mum to save her from that horrible man her father suddenly turned into. So I’m the bad guy, once again. I suppose I always was: refraining this entity of ours from owning a car, because I don’t feel we can afford it because we’re a one-salary family. Never truly being able to comfort her in the way her mother can, because I lack that feminine empathy gene. Losing my head like that. Oh, and cherising that weekend off from family-life I get every 1½-2 months, when there’s work to do and I need to satisfy my concentration and focus to get it done. Yea… Those things. I don’t like myself when I – albeit rarely, three of four times a year – blow steam like that. That’s not a man I’d like to look at in the mirror. But I also don’t like it when I’m cramped up in such a tiny space, which gets to be the case when those around me fill up what space we have. All that attention, all those things about her body she doesn’t know what’s going on with… There is always something. Always. It’s so damn straineous to live with someone who’s never ever at easy about anything. She itches, she’s going crazy she says, she thinks there’s too little light in here and in Winther she’ll get depressed if there’s so little light, so on and so on and so on. Fuck, why not go and see a doctor? Why not go and buy a lamp? Why not react on your sentiments, rather than voice complains to me, all the time, over and over? All that complaining… V, I love her a lot, but, man, she will consume all my time if I don’t watch out, and there will be nothing left in which to try and work out a pension-plan which will fit both of us, since she’s off the job-market. I can’t imagine her living on her own. When she did, when I first met her, she was doing that, and doing a piss-poor job at it; taking high-interest loans from freaking loan-sharks, being registrered as a cheque-forgerar(?), not knowing what to do with her life. Well I cleaned up all that shit: payed out the sharks, got her a sensible-interest bank loan, got her some money back from the IRS, five years of interest’s paid on her student loan she’d never thought of deducting herself. Stuffed her checking account when she couldn’t make ends meet, time and again. Secured her a firm family-base with a house, and a beautiful daughter, got her clear of those jobs she hated to the point where that freedom has brought her a promising future as a writer. So on and so forth. Well that has taken a shitload of my time and effort, and there are times I wonder what I could’ve done with those resources, had then been available to me today. There are times I can’t help but ponder which of us has gotten the better hand out of this deck. Of course that’s not fair. But then this is my journal, isn’t, and I’m the one whose daughter calls out for her mum when her dad can’t control himself. I do try my best, but I guess sometimes that doesn’t cut it. ‘Twas a dumb way to end the day. I hope tomorrow I’m past it. ~~~ Tomorrow Saturday. There’s always work to do, if I’m bored. Would be great if I had the time to watch the Formula-1 qualification, towards the starting grid of the Belgium Grand Prix at Spa, a great track. Then Sunday there’s a flea market we should try and attend. Am hoping for a quiet day.