Works Unfinished

Everyone has foibles. This is fact. We have all heard the saying over and over again, but I must repeat the cliche: nobody is perfect. When it comes to me, however, I feel as I am the complete opposite of perfect. It would be like comparing one a rich man's panache to a homeless man's garbage style, polar opposites. One piques your interest, while the other doesn't. 

Let me be ingenuous and blunt about this. One of my worst flaws would have to involve my constant procrastination. I tend to wait until the very last moment, and I feel the stress building up with each passing minute. However, it is not just simply procrastination; I have the tendency to leave things unfinished. I would start one thing, such as a story, poem, or project, and I would never finish it. This, thank goodness, does not pertain to my schoolwork (procrastination does, but not this extreme laziness to leave projects unfinished). Getting into a good college would require good grades which would result in doing my schoolwork. This system keeps me motivated in doing my schoolwork. It makes me feel like an erudite student sometimes. 

I don't want to seem like one who is solely transfixed on their own problems, but I feel it is necessary to mention something about it. I never finish anything I start and leave unfinished. For example, I would get this sudden spark of inspiration where a story would just flow through my fingertips; I would type or write for the rest of the day and night until bedtime. The next day, however, I would think of the story, but I wouldn't write it. I would tell myself I'd get to it eventually, and I'd keep pushing it off until I forgot about it. It's similar to going on a permanent hiatus. If for some reason I do decide to go back to the story, I would read what I had written and complain. How did I write something so terrible? Why did I think this was such a good idea? Everything that I had loved about the story suddenly turns blase. It would take herculean strength for me to attempt and finish one of my beloved stories. 

It's funny. I remember a time where all I would write were stories with unhappy endings or a story or poem with a dark theme. There was one time where I wrote about a girl's personal vendetta against the world and society. What happened to the rest of the story? Oops. Never finished it. There was another story in which a malevolent mother tried to influence her family into doing something bad (I don't quite remember exactly what it was). Whatever it was doesn't even matter anymore. I've "forgotten" the story, and it is now out the door.