Ruminations of an Afterlife

My darling husband is now well enough to have surgery on his wrists. The damn Templar messed them up pretty badly when they hung him on that fucking thing, and if he doesn't have the surgery, he won't be able to play his guitar again. This obviously cannot happen. Good thoughts, prayers, support, silly letters, pairs of knickers...anything will be appreciated. He's understandably worried about it.

After this, he'll be coming home and I get to be a house husband! Because you know...I'm alive! I get to watch over him and this pleases me greatly.

Love to you all.