It was not a well-rested sleep. Not at all with my darling tong lying under my unnaturally curled legs, on a foreign bed in Jas's room and with a morning-long of nightmares.

Surprisingly, of my mid-length reading list, neither the horror fiction of Nora Roberts - The Pagan Stone nor Twilight was the primary trigger for turbulent emotions even in my sleep. I read approximately a chapter of Living the Truth, very powerful book in bringing back my long buried skeletons. More overwhelming than I could imagine, as the nightmares of before returned with a resolution this time. Let me tell you, I hope that the ending is symbolic of an end, at last.

I have always dreamed the act of flinging myself out of the window panes in my previous home of 12 storey. And, of course, the outcome was clear - Death, which at one point really seemed like a good idea. But most of the time, I felt suicidal but knew almost for a fact - I wouldn't die and it would be a threat more than any thing else. I really hated myself for that. But this time, even in the dream, the agrravation was real and I jumped. But then nothing changed much.

I never in reality or dream got my ideal funeral or the sobbing family scene. In a odd way, I actually think jumping to my death in my dreams meant I moved on. Like the pre-written jargon in the profile section, I went faraway from my sucidal past more into reality.

Would you say this is something positive? I'm still not optimistic, but more realistic, and still with unfulfilled wishes to live with.

I beginning to think that the only good thing about nightmares is the chance to wake up to something else. However, unpleasant to it was to wake up to loud conversations, random chattering - I still woke up, not too early at 1pm noon.

Waking up to the global warming- caused uncomfortably sunny december day. (though of course I never studied enough geography to know if that's truly the reason). Shopping and hotdogs for lunch, we shopped around like sisters should be. And again overspent into my non-existent savings - on a necessary luxury of bobbi-brown eyeliner. Putting me $75 in jasmine's debt again.

Family politics with the festive coming - again, though i have somehow become more of a spectator than participant. Christmas presents are almost completed with proper wrapping and ribbon-ing. I sincerely hope the presents will be well-received, not patronizingly. Though it's weirder than it should be but I'm overly settled into my immediate family. And like how I enjoy my limited 10 friends quota, I hope not to receive gifts, this christmas. Emotional ties and grattitude are definitely not in my best suit, and I hope more than anything to limit my fake smiles as I end the year.

Aunt Sandra, maybe sensed it and instead of regulatory presents, the nieces and nephews got a pretty good treat for dinner, this sat. Without the "adults", leaving parents and grandma behind, it was fun. But, not without awkward undertones and this time of the year, ALWAYS without fail reminds everyone in the family of Uncle Steven. In my detached and strange moments, I wonder how heartbreaking it is for A. Sandra this year. Not that in my passive nature, will I investigate this thought. Not even when I could guess the answer, will I do anything. Just not in my nature to meddle in affairs too deeply entwined with the heart.

Well, the day of activities ended in the bathroom with great LUSH shampoo, amazing bubbles from a solid bar, great soap and all. In me, I have a quiet yearning and calm excitement(if there was sucha thing) for the festive to past into the new year.

Into random surfing, some facebook probbing, and probably Twilight or the truth book. I probably put my black macbook, aside ... only to listen to the soft tunes of The Pierce (my recent english music craze).

Till tomorrow, a hopefully quiet sunday. /sometimes soon, jeanie