This is me, on holiday a few months ago. I had two children, my father was asking me to come by and pick some of his strawberries. I worked as an illustrator and graphic designer, I was trying to go back on my diet. Now I have a third child on the way, my Dad is dead and gone, I've lost my job and I'm still trying to go back on my diet. I'm looking at options, new job possibilities, buying my Dad's house on Skytsbjergvej, which is the middle of no where, but the best chance for us to get a decent sized house big enough for three kids without my having to commit a crime in order to fund the sudden expansion of familia moif.
I guess all who live long enough eventually go through the door marked 'orphan', but its no comfort to know this particular path is well trodden. I'm moving at speed because I have to, because children depend on me, and its a good thing because that keeps me moving. I know that I'm now that man my father once was. He moved to Skytsbjergvej when he was 40 with three children in tow (though his kids then were a decade older than mine are now) and not much money in his pocket. Now I'm trying to do the same thing, only I don't have a job as such (I'm hoping/planning on being employed again very soon) ...and I don't even have a driving license yet.
I was already looking to move out of the city, but I thought I'd have my Dad around to ask for advice. This all feels very accelerated and I can't quite decide if I'm running to something or from something or maybe I've just been given an object lesson in reality, or maybe its all these things at the same time.
One things for sure, whining about it won't help.