Just watched K-19. A decent flick. Funny, hearing Harrison Ford making up this Russian accent. "Dive ze boat!" But he kind of pulls it off. The surprise is in the documentaries. I'm constantly amazed over the effort that is put into, and the level of detail that is strived for in, this kind of production. I mean digging up actual blueprints of a 50 year old Russian submarine, and then proceding to build the insides of it, completely to spec! Worrying about spelling on dials and colors on buttons. Amazing.

Anyway. I'm off. My friends are taking me bowling. I would never have thought I would like it - but it is actually quite fun.

The flu is finally subsiding. The only thing left now is this bad cough. And this deep deep baritone voice. The cough makes me sound like I've been smoking for fifty years. Two packs a day. But the voice! I like the voice. I'm one of those people who is a lousy singer but loves to sing anyway. Can't keep a tune. But hey! If it bothers you, just leave. 'Cause I will 'sing'. Yessir. And adding almost two whole octaves below my normal range is just plain awesome! I'm Barry White. Only off-key. All day. Between the coughing. "Can't get enough of your *cough* *cough* love, baby..."

Endearing, I know. I'm a luuuuuv *cough* *cough* machine.

Oh my God. OH MY GOD!

I know it's pathetic. Every single expectant father nowadays probably does exactly the same thing. Discovers this absolute bliss and exhilaration and, at the same time, utter and uncontrolled terror. It's moving INSIDE MY WIFE!!?! But it's gorgeous! Completely manic, and with a pulse of 140, but gorgeous.

Until now, this has just been a surreal experience of my love getting fatter. Many of my male friends have been gathering this very same kind of pot bellies, so it didn't really register. Hers is just a lot cuter. I can't keep my hands of it, actually.

But now. Seeing this miracle. Tossing and turning. Yawning and sucking on its thumb. Sticking out its tongue. It stirred something within me. It's becoming real to me. This treasure. This unborn miracle.

Being sick with the flu is like becoming really really drunk. You begin on this high, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks and becoming a little elevated. The heart pumps a little faster. Your edges soften a bit.

Then you become delirious. The heat is off the scale, and you may need some help. The only solution is to lie down. You sleep badly. Can't eat. You begin to really want this to be over, but nothing will work. Try some painkillers. They will help you, but not much. You're left with just lying. And waiting.

When the fever finally breaks, the hang-over takes over. You're regaining some consciousness but otherwise feel like shit. Lonely. Everybody else is busy busy busy. You can't work, so you're still waiting. Knowing that you will be back on your feet in a day or two. Your bones are aching now, and your throat feels like you just ate broken glass. And you're shivering. This is where I'm at now.

Finally, you will crawl back into existence. Still a bit groggy. The memories of the last few days kind of hazy. You promise to do your utmost not to let this happen again anytime soon. Yeah, like you have a choice.

"Fever. In the morning. Fever all through the night..."

Wow, did I write that? I am one sick puppy. No really. I woke up this morning with a burning fever, soar throat, the works. At least that explains it. I have never been much for wearing my heart on my sleave. But I do get almost delerious when I come down with the flu. Hence that emotional outburst yesterday. Or maybe blogging will just do that to you. Make you all mushy and stuff.

My head feels like it's in a vice. Like it is being squished between the hands of some evil giant who has nothing better to do. And my face is all red and swollen, kind of like the face of some american president. That's what you get from socializing too much in flu season.

I hate being sick. Sometimes, when I don't want to do something or am just feeling plain lazy, I'll wish I was sick. Only mildly sick though. Just enough to have the excuse to go to bed. But it isn't worth it. It never is. The aching and sneezing and blowing your nose until it feels like it's going to fall of. Not fun. Not fun at all.

This last week has been the best in a long time. Kind of a culmination of the good times I have had for the last few months. It's like when you have the perfect meal, leading up to this fabulous dessert that is so good that you want to savor the taste. Forever.

The dessert for me has been to meet so many of my oldest and dearest friends again. Man is really a social creature. I am at least. Maybe it means that I care too much about what other people think about me, which I gather is a definite no-no nowadays. Well, then so be it. I have just been blessed with such a stellar group of people to spend time with on this journey that I'm proud of them having a hold on me. Having opinions that I value. Giving me advice that I treasure.

When a dessert is made correctly, it becomes this small, distilled, disarmingly delicious treat, which you simply can not resist. These days have been just that. I was in no way prepared for that it would be so rewarding, meeting all those people and spending time with them, one after the other. It's humbling.

But, at the same time, it has also been this tremendous ego-boost. Approaching work again with confidence and generally feeling good about myself, after having my batteries recharged for the last months, appears to have a surprisingly big impact on how people react to me. People look me in the eyes, laugh and give me their large smiles. A colleague, with whom I have never had but the driest conversations, told me a joke. A beautiful girl, who I had a crush on for years, kissed me. I know it sounds pathetic, but I guess I never thought about how much my mood could affect those who I meet. Someone told me that I beamed like a pregnant woman! Go figure.

Then my wife said that she had missed me so much, and I simply melted. I am so hooked on this woman. Eighteen years haven't made a dent. It's still whole, pure, bright, warm. It is because of her that I enjoy life and am able to love my friends. She is the reason and the reward.

I should stop. This language does not do these feelings justice.

"I will not save the World. I will not be profound. I will not alter lives. I will not give meaning."

There. That felt good. I have been reading other people's weblogs for the longest time, always resisting the urge to go for it myself. I can't even recall how many times I have been on the verge of doing this. But now that I have reduced my expectations for this venture sufficiently, by means of my manifesto, I can begin.