In the morning, I went out to the Wars Memorials Square and lit a worm for all those entities who lost an iteration in one of them.

There was quite a large crowd there of mostly homo sapiens sapiens dressed in the traditional MacLeod dress tartan. The colours of penitence, the MacLeod's, were everywhere. I noticed a cohort of sentient six-hoofed equines with heads bowed respectfully in the shade of the covered piazza. The handsome hexapods each wore an aegis cloaked in MacLeod.

Plink MacDavis was there and sang covers of "Beginning to Feel the Pain", "Dream me a Home" and "Burnin' Thing".

As and in prayer, I gravely contemplated the meaning of the interstitial web of reality and the nature of waves, primarily those composed of graviquarks and tai balls.

Later, I had a pineapple waffle, drank a liter of water and engaged in a discussion an argument with my mom's insurance company. The poor dear is 437 years old and just can't look after herself any longer. Her barber filled out all the required forms, and probably for the nth time, yet her application to Ancients-Lea Rest Home was declined, again.