I find it fascinating how I’m suppose to be on vacation right now yet I still have tonnes of unwanted shit to do. Complaints aside, though, I’m going to start working on volume summaries for Black Lagoon volumes six and seven pretty soon. I’ve only got about one and a half months left before having to haul my ass back to university for another eight months of studying. At least I’ve managed to secure my preferred courses for the coming semester. Last year was practically hell for me since I had to wade through all those unnecessary and painful courses.
I’ve decided to drop my Del Rey Air Gear adaptation reviews. The number one reason for this is pure laziness, really. I have no excuses. The other reason is because the books look so nice and new in their shrink wraps I just don’t want to “ruin” them by removing their covers and bending their pages. Before anyone suggest buying two copies, let me squash that idea for you. I’m not going to purchase two copies of the same material just for the sake of writing reviews. I’m not that financially capable, and believe it or not manga in North America is, compared to the rest of the world, pretty damn expensive. I will be, however, continuing with the Elemental Gelade reviews when I feel like it. Summaries for EG will unquestionably continue whenever I get my hands on a new volume.
The blog update ends here. My rant begins here. If you’re not interested, stop now.
I honestly haven’t written anything in a while and my mind and fingers feel surprisingly numb as I am typing out this entry. Maybe it’s time for me to pick up that pen and start writing again.
Looking back on some of my previous works (if one can even call them that), it’s not difficult to see a certain degree of immaturity in them. I admit I’ve done stupid things and written stupid articles. At the time they seemed all nice and kosher, but after you leave it for a while then come back to read it again all the faults begins to float to the surface. I often ask myself why that happens. The easiest answer is “people change.” I’ve changed, and what seemed so “right” at the time no longer applies to the me that I’ve become. Yet at the same time this reason reeks of the stench of an excuse. It feels all too convenient to be able to dismiss one’s mistakes as the works of change. It’s like saying after one has written something he or she is no longer responsible for it anymore. In a sense, this is like the internet message boards, but I suppose anonymity plays a bigger role there. Still, the fundamental aspect of irresponsibility is the same, and I have huge beef with acts of irresponsibility. Thus, I cannot accept the excuse of change as a way to justify literary atrocities that both I and others have committed.
I talked to some friends about this and they tell me I’m just being too hard on myself. “We all make mistakes,” they say, “after all, we’re only human, right?” Well, yes, we are all human. Being human, we are all inherently imperfect. There isn’t much I can argue about when people play the “we’re only human” card. I mean, they are right. But doesn’t this seem just as avoidant as attributing our inconsideration to change? In my book it certainly is, so out with this explanation, as well.
After a whole afternoon of pondering and searching, I still can’t find a suitable reason to explain my misses. I had to stop eventually since my mother was getting nervous about me staring listlessly out the window. For the hell of it, I asked her about her views on this whole thing, but she played the “we’re only human” card and drained away all my life points in one hit. Darn, I should have knew better….
