J. is back from his father's place and still looking quite fragile. He is quite frightening when he looks fragile. His linebacker sized frame begins to look like a self-propelled bomb. While he is consciously working hard to convince himself, "It could be worse," he unconsciously explodes and attacks at just about anything. He comes by it honestly. When the in-laws start their blessing counts, I run for the safety of my own business, preferably my business on other continents. Their blessing counts often end in bloodshed. Literaly. At best, they end in hurt feelings. I do not believe Nature designed her blessings to be tools of repression.

I have long been braced for Mister Surname's anti "Old Folk's Home" obsession to end in destitution. I am good with numbers. It is not the most complex math I have ever tackled. Don't even need accurate numbers to weigh escalating medical costs against private resources. They are enough to stagger the most stable "First World" governments on the planet. One prideful little oil baron? Not much of a math challenge.

By the time Missus Surname died almost two years ago, their family home already felt like one of the less pleasant nursing homes I have ever visited. MIster Surname was already selling off family assets to keep his new "daughters" financed. His private nursing home was enough to traumatize my support dog. Please don't ask me to carry my grandchildren into an environment that can traumatize my support dog. All five bedrooms of the house are now littered with nursing items. His "daughters" are looking more dysfunctional family daughterly with every diaper change and every decline in the coffers. There are duplicates and triplicates (or more) of every prosthetic the nurses have failed to get the prideful Mister to use. I still see a Drama King who will outlive his pride. I have no doubt that his recent decline is real, but. . . Insert deliberately distant awareness of my own estranged mother still breathing after 17 years of not being able to go potty by herself. Her 400 pound frame demands a special machine to allow diaper changes and fresh bed clothes. The physically fit Mister Surname is likely to out-live us all. It amazes me what some people call, "Living." He remains obsessed about not being put in an "Old Folks Home." I find the welfare nursing homes far more pleasant to visit than his isolated kingdom.

My goal is to channel all my negative perceptions of Mister Surname's arrogant drama here for the sake of letting J process his own at Blessing Count conditioned speed.

Prayers in progress.