After/ You get what you want/ You don't want it.

Got visa. Now to wrap up the truckloads of work that has been piling up on my desk while I fretted and fumed.

Serves me right.

I try to stay awake/ And remember my name/ But everybody's changing/ And I don't feel the same.

In a parallel universe fairly close to ours, things are falling apart. And a bloke called Tom Chaplin's singing stuff that vaguely makes sense to me.

Here's something I do to keep my angst down to controllable levels: loop a single track endlessly. It becomes my Song of the Day, and acts as a theme/ counterpoint/ silly comment/ distracting thought/ antidote to whatever ails me at the moment of listening.

Does it work? But then, does anything?

How long, how long, baby/ How long has it been?

Checked my visa status online a while ago. Was politely informed that my passport was at the embassy. Called the visa centre, only to be told that my application only arrived at their doorstep yesterday.

Yesterday!

Naturellement, Polite Lady at the Other End of the Line could only tell me about my visa tomorrow, or, worst case, the day after. I counted to 300 before smiling and putting down the phone.

Today, a travel agent will die.