3.25 GPA and I am on the Dean's List.

God has been especially nice to me, His dirty little girl.

Anyhow, I am getting no subsidy for being on the Dean's List. However, I am getting 20% subsidy for writing for the college paper. Happiness. I wish I could reimburse the amount deducted from my tuition fee and acquire a new set of wardrobe.

They did not publish "Reality on the 25th" in the college paper's Christmas Special. My poem was too morbid, too cynical that I guess the editors were afraid that readers would lose their Christmas dinner out of sheer disgust.

Of course, Christmas is great. Nobody objects to that, not even the most evil of all evils (like yours truly). I loved Christmas as a child and I loved it continually after my discovery of one big Christmas hoax at age six: Santa Claus doesn't squeeze himself in people's chimneys and windows and is not responible for the Barbies and WWF Action Figures shoved inside hanging school socks. Santa Claus is in heaven, doing whatever. Yes, he's been dead since our parents know when.

I don't like Christmas as an adult because of all the freakin' commercialism attached to it. Sometimes, I want to believe that despite the growing atheism (brought about by Satan worshipping, pot-smoking heavy metal bands and the dodos who follow the great lunatic Rael) and apathy in the contemporary world, Christmas continues to exist only because of the Fruitcake bakers and peppermint cane makers and because of the Hallmark cards company. Sad. Of course, I am sure there are still a few who anticipate Christmas minus all the superficiality of expensive gift-giving and unrestrained indulgence in food. But let us all admit the sad reality: Christmas is becoming more and more phony year after year. The so-called pious Catholics might call me blasphemous. Oh well, all I can say is, all great truths begin as blasphemies.

Happy Holidays. Seriously.

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.