08:49 PM Down and Up
What would you do if you hadn't gotten any decent sleep for two days, then found out that the paper you'd slaved over had gotten one of the lowest grades in class?

I would cry. Not just a single tear from the corner of my eye, no; I mean heart-wrenching sobs and eyes swollen shut. I would cry until I had tired myself out and fallen asleep. Upon waking, I'd start crying again.

The fact is, this did happen to me. Today. I won't go into the specifics of what subject it was, but I had held such high hopes about the grade, and I'd had such confidence in myself and in what I had written. I had, in reality, set myself up for disappointment. I felt worthless and plunged into my own personal hell, weeping and gnashing my teeth as I bawled my lungs out.

What did I do wrong? I asked, beating myself up until I was sore in mind and soul.

The rest of the day it was like I was avoiding all emotional extremes. My smile didn't reach my eyes, but my eyes had also stopped tearing up. It's something you learn to do when you're as volatile as I am.

Yet something within me kept hoping it was a mistake. Or, because of lack of sleep, maybe I had hallucinated about the whole thing.

An Inquirer article gave me some solace, though. It said, "At times our best efforts still seem inadequate for our superiors; thus we get disapproval instead of the praises we're hoping for. When this happens, do not get discouraged, disheartened, or depressed. Remember, just as no one is so perfect as to be spared from criticism, no critic has perfect judgment either."

I started to reconcile myself to the grade. Maybe I did deserve it. Maybe I need to stop whining and simply accept it. It happened for a reason; God must mean for me to learn something from it. The prayer "God give me the grace to accept the things I cannot change" took on real meaning for me. I realized that the moment I had submitted that paper, final control of my grade had passed from me to my professor.

So, until an hour ago, I was seated here downloading my email, twiddling my thumbs. I had emailed my professor to ask for clarification about the grades, but I wasn't expecting anything to change. Instead, I was asking God to help me not to feel bitterness against the professor.

Then I saw it. The reply. The subject line tagged it as a must-read. And the first few lines read:

"Please disregard the grades I emailed..."

I let out a shout heard 'round the world. The email went on to say that I had aced the paper. That night, I slept well.

Epilogue:
Sometimes, I think I am the modern-day Job. Let me put out a disclaimer right now: I am not as righteous as Job was. I don't think God could brag about my behavior to Satan, who could easily bring up a long list of sins I've committed over the past week. But it's not my righteousness God holds up: it's the righteousness of His Son, who died for me and made even my blackest sins as white as snow.

So, a cosmic battle is being waged (wagered? Ü) every time something like this happens. You can laugh, but I think it's true. Being a Christian, I think I'm an extra-large target for this sort of thing. I bear Christ's image, and I don't think Satan can resist taking potshots at Him.

But it wasn't my actions that determined the outcome. I know that I would not normally react as I did today; a similar thing that happened last year showed me how low I could sink into depression and bitterness. No, it was not my win; it was God's.

11:54 AM You Watch, You Learn
So, I've been obsessing about Alias for a couple of months now. It hasn't gotten to the point where I'd make a fan site and all that, and I haven't started stalking Michael Vartan. But because my mom got both first and second season DVD sets, I've been immersed in that world for three days. I eat breakfast and lunch while Sydney and Vaughn discuss a mission, I exercise while Sydney kicks butt, and my lullaby is the Alias opening theme. I'm just kidding about that last part. Ü

I've learned valuable hair tips from Sydney and the gang along the way, though. Like there are some shades of blonde that just look fake on a brunette. Raggedy-Ann red hair is cool even if (or especially because) it's stringy. Change your hair color and hair style, and people will never recognize you, unless they're bad guys.

As for makeup, fake bullet holes on the side of your head, no matter how small they are, will always fool people into thinking you're dead. Pink cheeks will make you look natural and fresh, even when you haven't slept a wink; blue cheeks will make you look like you're freezing and will accentuate the bags under your eyes.

The most important lesson, of course, is never become a spy if you don't want a really complicated life. Yep, that's the lesson that's the most applicable for me.

03:51 PM Three Things

Three Things You Probably Don't Know About Me
• I never get lost in malls.
• I eat really, really fast.
• I can do a mean split.

Three Things That Don't Really Matter
• I've got a fan. Who'd be so interested in me that they'd look for me on Dogpile by name?
• I got a call yesterday asking if I wanted to be interviewed for a web developer job. Too bad I don't know PHP and MySQL.
• I crammed for two exams for the past few weeks, which is why you haven't seen me around lately.

Three Things I Tell Myself to Make Me Happy
• My teachers love my work.
• I am not fat.
• I can do a mean split.

10:36 AM I'll be back after my exam tomorrow evening. The pile of readings is enough to break your wallet and your back.