I am catching my breath. Literally. Whatever happened to the depressive troublemaker part of me and this perfectionist go-getter unleashed and ripped my ugly facade open...revealing new skin, new beginnings. This is the last week for the second trimester. I did relatively good. So far, I have a couple of 4.0s and a 4.5 (although Prof. Aman argued that eventhough this is my final grade, a 4.5 is anything but existent in CSB). I still have three more subjects to go. I want to puke my guts out with incredible fright and anticipation. Kill the melodrama. But what the flying f*ck...it is how I honestly feel.

Three sleepless nights and it is not enough. Adrenaline rushing with every leap of my feet, trying to conquer the ridiculously innumerable steps to the fourth floor Mutien Marie hall. Then there he was, smile written across his face, clearly sending out a fresh message of approval and early congratulations.

I will keep on going on and on and on. Nothing, not even a day without Zoloft will stop me.