I have always been an average student. Sure, once in a while I get an A minus or two, but mostly I settle for B’s and C’s at a university in which a B can sentence a prospective medical student to a certain death.

Nothing motivates me. I have no Oprah or Montel to push me to that next level. Even the fact that my parents pay a staggering amount of money to send me here fails to send shivers down my spine.

Yet, this spring quarter, I have resolved to take important steps to get my life under control. I will show you, dear reader (yes Mom, that means you), that I can become the next A.S. Council president, the next editor in chief of the Guardian or the next chancellor of UCSD.

Of course, I’ll have to kidnap and brainwash a couple of people to do it, but nonetheless, I will become a leader, a bona-fide psuedo Jesse Jackson, albeit without any of his scandals, I hope.

I realize that my plan may fail horrendously because, if I want to earn an award from Chancellor Dynes, I have one major obstacle: I have to work.

Not only do I have to go to office hours and try to understand a professor’s obscure explanation of the theory of life, but I also have to spend hours cooped up in dimly lit rooms with my face pressed up against my books, my eyes bleeding endlessly as I scan a steady stream of boring text.

Unfortunately for me, spending hours on the telephone while I write e-mails to my friends and simultaneously paint my toenails does not constitute work (although it does by my definition).

Even worse is the fact that I have been lectured, chastised, yelled at, begged and screamed at to get my life together.

Everyone from my neighbor up the street to my brother (who, mind you, should take my side instead of that of my parents) never fail to mention that I am wasting my time and my life by doing nothing.

Yet I feel that I am doing something. I’m taking upper-division classes, and while I miss a few classes (last quarter I missed six lectures for one class) I’m still learning even if I am struggling to understand why I signed up for such a ridiculous class in the first place.

And do not forget that I write thought-provoking columns that invoke widespread critical acclaim; by the way my mom is my personal publicity manager, so please contact her if you’d like me to offer a life management course, for the low price of $25,000.

More importantly, I am a good soul, to put it humbly.

I never fail to flash my dimples, offer a hearty laugh in response to a really bad joke or smile at even the grumpiest people (even if I have licorice and other appealing foods stuck between my teeth).

And perhaps most importantly, I’m a martyr.

Oh, sure, I may not be of the same caliber as Joan of Arc, but I put myself through hell, waxing my hairy body constantly, so that I will not blind innocent UCSD students sitting next to me in class. And if that ‘s not hard work, I honestly don’t know what is.

Now, many of you struggling to balance work and school at the same time, may not think that what I do merits a Nobel Prize. In fact, you may complain that I’m a spoiled, pretentious brat who should leave UCSD and settle for kindergarten — and by the way, if anyone knows a kindergarten that would take me, please notify me immediately.

You may not realize that being a slacker is difficult and treacherous work. Not only are the repercussions high — my parents could cut my ATM card in two — but it also subjects one to harsh criticism (someone once told me I was a “”waste of space””).

And even worse, no one understands you. I’ve told numerous people that there’s no point in working anyway, because most of us will end up as slaves working for evil corporations. Those people looked at me as though I were crazy.

That’s what I get for telling the truth: societal isolation.

Anyway, I’m hoping I’ll still manage to graduate in the next 10 years. I want to go down in history as the first UCSD student who took a decade to graduate.

Maybe then I’ll finally get my award.