June 24th, 2011.

Kid can’t seem to sleep beyond 5 o’clock in the morning, it’s a hassle. Methinks he sleeps too long during the day, will have to adjust that or his bedtime hour.

Visited with the ‘Pedersborg Præstehave’ for the – now traditional – Sct. Hans celebration. It’s good stuff, good food and okay music. Great scenery. V’s family was there, didn’t talk much with them, though, well apart from her dad, as I moved back early to get kid into bed.

Here’s what I’d like to happen, I like to wake up tomorrow and get a call from some agent in Hollywood, who’s had the great fortune to extract my script from the Zoetrope competition and thinks it’s the best thing since the Bicycle Thief. So he options it for a hundred grand, next thing there’s a package being sold to a major studio, Spielberg signs on to direct, I quit my miserable job (both of them), fulfills the mortgage, and go into writing screenplays for a living, then as soon as the film is out I’m nominated for an Academy Award and would you know, by February it’s in the bag.

Imagine that.

Anyways. All’s quiet on the western front. Got the car fixed, expensive enough. The kid’s last day of school before the summer break is today, have arranged for a present in recognition of the work she’s managed throughout the year. Learning to read is no mean feat, particularly when you’re not even in grade-school! She’s done well and deserves the accolade. Her first summer break, that must surely be a great feeling.

I wonder how much of these days, or years, I’ll care to remember as I grow older. Apart from – though it’s a very big ‘apart from’, it must be said – watching my kids grow up and grow smarter, I’m not really collecting many joyful memories, am I. It’s all about work and obligations. I recall reading a ‘True history of the United States’, wherestin particularly the section on daily life during the industrial revolotion made pause for ponder; the man of the house worked 16 hour days, six days a week, at a low hourly rate. No unions, few rights. I thought to myself, ‘well that can’t be very joyful’. I believe getting drunk and keeping their friends and family close made it work for some. Maybe they didn’t think there was much more to it than that. I dunno. I know there’s not enough time to do what I really care to do, which is to write screenplays, and stories. But how many of us get the chance to do what we really want to do? Nothing would work if everybody did their own deeds. I hope in a different circumstance, where I’m not as obligated as of now, that I’ll still have that creative spark in me. Though it may lead me nowhere, it aches when I can’t put pen to paper on account of sheer lack of time and surplus. Until then I suppose I’ll need make do with the odd bits and pieces here and there, try and stock up on the good ideas for later use.

Weekend’s up; time to work, and be with the family whilst not.

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