As you surely recall, I posted to location and time of my birthday party on Dec. 17th ( tomorrow). However, I have changed the time. It will be beginning at 11:30 at Auction House 300 East 89th st. You may now carry on.

Well, it's done, over, finished. Apps are in and now there is nothing to do, but go buy Christmas presents, get ready for my party, do the vacuuming/laundry/dishes I've been ignoring for the last three weeks, grade 30 final exams, turn in 60 final grades and deal with turning 30 and celebrating another christmas in PA without a boyfriend.

Yep it's all downhill from here.

But I wouldn't have gotten grad. apps. in if it wasn't for a number of people, and I would like to take some time here to thank those who really went above and beyond the normal bounds of friendship.

Bakerina offered me unflagging support. I mean,8:30 in the morning to 11 o'clock at night round the clock "you can do it little slugger, go in and win one for the team" phone calls. She is also did emergency copyediting ( better than one of my fellow profs.) All this after I didn't have time get her a birthday present, because I was, of course, working on grad apps. And she is bringing me freakin' Palm Beach brownies for my birthday. The woman should be sainted.

UDR for actually providing some fairly sound contributions/ideas as well as also emergency editing. Also for endlessly harassing me to keep working so that I would make deadline. And bringing me lots of quality cigarettes.

My mother for helping me with my resume, paying for my graduate advisor, and for keeping the rest of the family away from me during Thanksgiving so I could work.

Richard Braverman of Kaplan who helped shape my statement of purpose. ( Otherwise it would have been "Ohhhhh pleeeeeeaaaaaase let me in. I promise I'll be good and I won't bite the other students....much. Please, please, please.)

My gay husband and the Amazon for taking me out for drinks and cigs when I needed to be mindless and silly so as to be more focused the next day.

The head of my department for being understanding about my grades being turned in four days late.

The guy who wore a coat with the word LUCKY on the 1 train yesterday as I went to Columbia for giving me something positive to focus on.

For anyone who called to offer support/tell me they are proud of my work the last week.

Anyone who has come in contact with me the last six weeks and continued to keep contact with me despite my, despressive/anxiety filled/ or hostile behavior.

All of you bloggers who continued to put up posts so that I could have little five minute breaks to restore my sanity.

And of course for all of you who left supportive comments or just simply continued reading.

(I'm sure I've left some people out, some people have been left out intentionally as they prefer to remain anonymous. So thank you to the unmentionables.)

Dockers, for vanishing suddenly half way through the process, depriving me of much needed sexual relief and causing MORE depression my rejecting me and more anxiety by vanishing without a word.

The Spinster who was supposed to be helping me, but instead of copyediting sent me into a massive meltdown with her "it seems like undergraduate work" 8 hours before submission comment.

Recently a dear friend of mine ran the Phileadelphia marathon. When I asked her how it was she admitted, "I cried from mile 18 to 20." She asked me how I was doing with grad apps. It was near Thanksgiving then, I said "I'm at mile 18."

I have to physically take my writing sample and resume as well as one recommendation to Columbia. Today one of the other prof's who read my writing sample said "it read likes an undergrad thesis" when I pressed her for why, she couldn't say ( This is the same prof who has been telling me that I am brilliant and an asset to any program from weeks-but then she also suggested I turn in a piece of creative writing with it). I of course burst into tears. Its due today. I've been working on it for six weeks. The paper has been transformed 3 times. (I will most likely go back to my original argument the relationship between the monster and Vistor has the representing the relationship between a chronically ill individual and a physician.) And there was no constructive criticism about what I could do to help, just "well that's the way I feel." Also Columbia, unlike Harvard and Princeton, has no upload for writing samples and resumes on the online application ( why, I ask, bother having one then?) which means I have to run my no make up jeans and sweatshirt wearing ass all the way up to Columbia by today at five. Oh and I also have to finish grading final papers by about 12 or so. Let's not mention my computer loading incredibly slowly, and the 50 high school students who inexplicably showed up in my office this morning for some sort of tour. (Me in no make up with sweatshirt, they assumed a student, meaning they kept asking me about the bathroom etc.) all as I am depserately trying to upload my SOP which is 600 words over their desired length ( my grad advisor says its nec.). Finally I made them open up the computer lab for me.

But now the end is in sight. I have to pay the app. fee, have something to eat, proof read one last time, and then print and dash to columbia. Then I have to go therapy and dance class. Finally I am collapsing in my bath tub with a bottle of cote du rhone, which I bought in Paris.

This is excluding a whole bunch of other things. The anxiety so intense I'm vomiting bile in the mornings. The feeling like my lungs have suddenly become paralyzed. Having to watch happy couples kissing in front of me, friends talking about moving in with girlfriends or having children. Yet another failure of mine. I can't even keep someone interested for more than two weeks. The most consistent male attention I've had this year is from UDR. Think about that for a moment.

I am going to dedicate to getting more of my critical papers published, which if I don't get in, will help my chances for next year. I'm trying to be positive, but you know it was easier when Eric was here to put a peanut sandwich on my pillow when I was tired.

But the end is in sight.

One of my students has done a paper on the physical positive aspects of monogamous sexfor women. Yep 10 pages of why sex is good for me ie sex 3 times a week is the equivalent of jogging seventy five miles.

My friend who accidentally threw me into a massive depression last week was at it again this weekend. I finally dragged myself up by boot straps, she brings up present exhcange/travel plans with boyfriend and then puts the final cabosh on my mood by saying he brought up having children.

You know, just once I would like to spend a birthday/christmas with a boyfriend. JUST ONE. You would think in 30 years I might have been able to pull that one off once. But nope it remains like the jackalope, elusive.

I think at this point I should just lay down and wait for cabs to run me over.