better late than half-assed
... is what I like to tell myself when I procrastinate. See, I believe creativity comes from sudden inspiration, that you can't just sit and write a good article, that you can't just wait for the right image to appear on your head and flow out of your brush. It's a sick, skewed, abhorrently twisted line of thinking, I know, but for the longest time, it has been a way of life for me.
I had always known I was lazy and selfish. When Ondoy ravaged Manila and kids my age where active in relief operations everywhere? I was in my dorm room, engaged in activities so inconsequential I can barely remember what they are. Now that Haiti's a disaster zone - and that's putting it mildly - I'm writing a blog entry about me, me, me. Woe to me.
I guess the point of this rant is, right now, I make myself sick. Although I had always been numbly aware of my piss-poor, halfhearted performance in everything, always getting things done, but rarely getting things done as well as I would had I poured in TOTAL effort, that fact never bothered me. Reactive all the way. Sean Covey's eyebrows would rise way up till the high heavens upon seeing me on a typical day.
So yes, I make myself sick. I wish I could feel things. I wish I could get angry at politicians who steal people's money, I wish I could cry over the loss of several thousand lives due to successive earthquakes worldwide, I wish I could worry enough about my future to study more than ten minutes a day outside class. Damn it. What is wrong with me?
... is what I like to tell myself when I procrastinate. See, I believe creativity comes from sudden inspiration, that you can't just sit and write a good article, that you can't just wait for the right image to appear on your head and flow out of your brush. It's a sick, skewed, abhorrently twisted line of thinking, I know, but for the longest time, it has been a way of life for me.
I had always known I was lazy and selfish. When Ondoy ravaged Manila and kids my age where active in relief operations everywhere? I was in my dorm room, engaged in activities so inconsequential I can barely remember what they are. Now that Haiti's a disaster zone - and that's putting it mildly - I'm writing a blog entry about me, me, me. Woe to me.
I guess the point of this rant is, right now, I make myself sick. Although I had always been numbly aware of my piss-poor, halfhearted performance in everything, always getting things done, but rarely getting things done as well as I would had I poured in TOTAL effort, that fact never bothered me. Reactive all the way. Sean Covey's eyebrows would rise way up till the high heavens upon seeing me on a typical day.
So yes, I make myself sick. I wish I could feel things. I wish I could get angry at politicians who steal people's money, I wish I could cry over the loss of several thousand lives due to successive earthquakes worldwide, I wish I could worry enough about my future to study more than ten minutes a day outside class. Damn it. What is wrong with me?
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