Sunday 20th November 2005

well that's all over with

Thank Heaven! the crisis—
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last—
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length—
But no matter!—I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead—
Might start at beholding me,
Thinking me dead.

(edgar allan poe, 'for annie')

unlike some certain lucky/skilled people i know, the results for me are in the air. i'll certainly survive failure, should it come to that; we're nothing if not utterly adaptable. what i might not survive is the interminable six- to eight-week waiting period between being examined and receiving the results. they'll arrive just in time for the christmas season to start getting really, really annoying (i.e. still weeks before christmas actually arrives), so the other thing i might not survive is having to divulge the results (and, by extension, having to explain just what in the hell an actuary does, for the n-thousandth time) to each family member i have. at least twice each.

actual downers

invader zim
plastic superheroes

(TED your once-proud phoenix will tremble before the onslaught of my shiny new veteran hypersonic superman and kingdom come shazam!, she would do well to turn tail and run)

posted by mAtt @ 1.00 (gmt+0000)
to /entertainment/happiness/insoluble/unhappiness

Monday 7th November 2005


… in addition to having a firm command of the above, candidates will be expected to wet their pants and cry for mommy, and afterward question their future careers.

useful texts:
none, you poor sods.

posted by mAtt @ 22.39 (gmt+0000)
to /insoluble/unhappiness