Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants my will

I had to do something unusual during training on Monday (no, not that, it's not that kind of call centre)- I had to decide where my 'super' would go if I didn't claim it before I died. This apparently refers to a superannuation fund, and I think it's like a pension- they were using lots of unfamiliar words like 'work' and 'standard'.
Anyway, I'm not gonna say who I decided to leave it to, but I want this on record- if they do get ahold of the money, then they have to use it to par-TAY. And I mean so hard it hurts. I want them to shave at least five years off their lifespan over the course of a Krazy (with a Kapital 'K') weekend, spent doing all manner of depraved things in which I can no longer partake. Game's on, Mr. Sage. Damn, gave it away.

In other news, training was alright, my co-workers seem cool, the job doesn't seem too difficult, but I imagine the first time I actually make a call to someone I'll freak out and end up insulting their mothers- true fact, this is how 90% of first conversations go with me.

We just had a meeting of the Blank Slate theatre company, of which I am the Producer; queue to the left for the casting couch. It was really fun; we played some games (name games are another facet of theatre that is universal), then we made some tableaus on the theme of 'connections' (honestly less wanky than it sounds). Hopefully, we'll be meeting weekly, and it'll be nice to get back into some theatre stuff- this has been my first semester without doing any plays at all, and I've missed the camraderie and sense of whimsy that accompanies the best productions; I've not missed the self-consciousness and irritation that accompanies not-so-good productions ('Alack! The Killer flees!' 'Killer fleas? Where?!). But I have a good feeling about Blank Slate; I have a lot of good feelings now-a-days.