Regular readers will be familiar with this annual tradition.
As of today, I am no longer perfect. And, short of some dramatic advances in life-extending technology, I never will be again.
But worry not, because I’m back in my prime. It’s been a while. The last prime year I had, I spent walking out of my really well paid but horribly unsuitable insurance job, mooching around getting nothing done for a few months, then working in a psychiatric hospital. I’d only just started living in my own flat, enjoying some space I could call completely my own for the very first time. For the months when I didn’t have a job, I was alone a lot. It was pretty awesome.
This year I’m getting married. Things have changed. This is better.
The last time I was part of a twin prime, I was moving out of halls and into my student flat in Exeter, but there’s no need to regress that far.
I’m also Tetranacci this year, which I hadn’t been since boarding school, and which I haven’t heard of before today. Nice.
Next year I’ll be a pyramid, but I’ll also be quite round. Paradox THAT, bitches.
Oh, and apparently I’ll be semi-perfect, so that’s something to look forward to.
Meanwhile, Kirsty’s shortly going to stop being highly powerful and very binarily round, and instead become extremely three. We won’t both simultaneously be in our prime until we’ve been married for nearly eight years.