Superfluous Third Wheel

Nick and Lisa have made the tangible transition from indefinite to definite article; and so, I count one less mid-shipman in accompaniment on the long and arduous voyage toward emotional self-destruction. It would appear that I am typically predestined to ascend several rungs upon the hierarchical ladder, only for the bottom to promptly fall out of the market, and leave me dangling yet again over a yawning crevass of permanent, life-long, and unenforced celibacy.

I'm fast running out of empathy; all that remains is for Smith's moral conscience to be waylaid by some deranged harlot, and you can tattoo "pariah" on my forehead, for all to see. Damn, damn, damn you all; but I'll be damned if I let you beat me to it.

Oh, and to whom it concerns: Sheffield offer; Law; grades AAA, including General Studies.

The Oxford Dictionary definition of "compromise" is hereby declared inadequate.

I just spent all of three hours composing a (relatively) epic poem.

And - for once - I don't intend to post it here.

Ah, well; I'm sure that she harbours the requisite perspicacity to appreciate its finer points. No: not that "she" - although I'm sure she will, too. As will she. But not her; not as yet, anyway. Truth be told, she just isn't ready. Although, that's not to suppose she would be necessarily any less capable of "getting" it; whatever "it" ultimately turns out to be (judging from prior experience, however, she probably wouldn't want "it", regardless).

No matter; it makes me happy. Which is, after all, the prime consideration here.

So, g'night, and... well, you all know the rest.