I hate maturing.
At times I wish I didn't have to grow up, so I could play video games and eat cheese all day long.
"When I became a man, I put away childish things."
Part of me is scared of what real responsibility means. Our hero to the right here, the brutish Orc Dur Grabob, for instance, is afraid of nothing. He routinely faces down spectres and beasts from the netherworld - ghastly fiends who would suck the life out of him. He has been shouldered with fulfilling the prophecies of the Nerevarine, to conquer the evil Dagoth Ur and restore health and prosperity to Morrowind.
But he's not real. He's a figment of my imagination, created with the help of the creative geniuses at Bethesda Softworks. And as of about 60 seconds ago, the data which comprised his unique characteristics (Strength at 142 points!) is gone. I sat my wife down on my lap and had her watch while I uninstalled the game, including the save game files. All that's left is this picture.
And that's OK. For in the long run, when I face my maker, God won't ask me what I did to remove the blight storms from some mythical isle, but rather how I served my family. It's easy to lose that focus from time to time. I thank God that he never loses focus on me.
It looks like I may have gained a level; my Maturity is now at 32 points.