September 17th, 2015.

Remembered, as I was standing around waiting for the morning bus (I really do need to get a bicycle again), one particular morning when as I child doing the exact same exercise, only lightning and thunder came down upon us. Hard. I guess my mum figured the chances of one hitting us were slim, as they probably were, but I do recall them being close. Oh well, we made it, but the point was that I recall two or three particulars about that waiting and that bus-ride. But it’s probably the last time that individual recollection reaches my conscious attention? I’ve been thinking about the so-called ‘quantified self’ devices out there, but none really struck my fancy. Too bulky, too weird, too little battery. Too little true meaning to it? I’m unsure as to where the influence derives from. Perhaps in part the A.I. books I’ve recently read. There’s a underlying tendency, too, methinks, in wanting to have something to show, at a later date, for one’s efforts in living less than loud; those early we-have-kids years are painstainkingly mondane in their very nature. But life’s short and I do feel the desire to document where some of that time went. Hell, where all of it went. What the heck happened to it? This journal only gets me half way there. Yet it’s likely the more valuable half. Maybe I’ll act on it, for the technological fascination is certainly prevailant: could I use this recorded material to, say, program an A.I. to take over when I’m near dead? Fascinating stuff.

Did another trip to the Slagelse public swimming facility, where N swimming-classes are on-going. He likes the water, doesn’t want to get sprayed in the face. V tells me K was the same. Should maybe get him some glasses, some of the other kids have’em. He’s being rather rambunctious: He utterly sucks in paying general attention and hanging on to a team-order. In his defence it’s noisy as hell and there’re way too many kids in the pool at one time, in my opinion. Will see if I can’t take him there a weekend or two, when it’s just him and I.

Am reading ‘An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth’, by Chris Hadfield. Part memoire, part self-helf book, it’s another brief little thing before I get into the serious stuff again. Lots of helpful tips on how to prepare for the serious stuff life has to offer. If one has the right background, of course, it’s easy to preach if you’re brought up into a family of preachers. But a good book, non the less.

This evening will meet Kenn, watch a movie and drink a pint. Now that I know to keep him at arm’s length, or at least not visit him in his apartment where he’ll openly fight with his teenaged son, I’m glad that I didn’t ditch the friendship, tempted as I was. For I find that I do value the chats about almost everything, and breaking it up with a movie or so doesn’t hurt as well. Will see ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’, hope it’s good.

Weekend on its way, V and the kids, and her mum, will take to the Oslo Ferry throughout it. Not that we can really afford it. Sometimes I wonder how we make it through. Then I recall the company I had, the overtime I put in, so on and so forth. Then I try and forget that, in turn. She’s near finished her first draft of her latest book, of which I know not the plot nor the protagonists yet, and she has high thoughts and hopes for it. So one can only hope it’ll rake in some dough, so to speak. Well, we always did make it through anyway, haven’t we, and our standing of living is reasonbly high and may be reverted if need be. Will try and get some construction work done over the weekend, has been months and I haven’t been able to.

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