I’m getting married to the most wonderful person I know on Monday. Today we got the marriage license!

My mother in law has a very dainty, feable 12-year-old Maltese that he tries depseratly to play with. That usually involves the Maltese getting stuck under Radahn…surely that counts!

Ye dead who yet live!

He’s got the mass of a black hole if we’re talking force of attraction.

He certainly gets all the scritches that could be wished for.

…and he steals all the socks he could wish for!

Thank you!

I’m pretty sure if I brought him to the NYSE they’d have to suspend trading.

I was sent to a series of the ‘better’ programs—i.e., the ones without deaths attached to them. It took a decade of therapy to deal with the worst of the trauma and I still experience PTSD episodes several times each year. It’s astounding how these facilities carry on functioning with merely a name change. There’s almost no regulation, let alone patient rights. My first program was truly one of the better ones and they had patient rights information posted through the facility and hard copies provided in your welcome packet. When I was sent to my second program (wilderness), I asked what my patient rights were. I received dumbfounded stares followed by laughter.

My partner and I are chest-deep into BG3. We had a third teammate, but he got too busy with life…and wasn’t really a team player to begin with. But we’re absolutely loving the game and have happily become unproductive members of society since we started playing a few weeks ago.