Incomplete

AT left, the Crimea Atomic Energy Station - Incomplete. Photo from wikicommons as taken by Tiia Monto and generously shared for the price of attribution. Lovely image, I think. Nicely framed.

Thanks, Tiia.

I'm back with the confession: I'm incomplete.

My whole life is a trail of incomplete projects. All of it. Every. Last. Bit.

I rarely stay around to the end for whatever it is. Kids? Marriage? School? Job? Party? Pick something.

I move on and let the day-to-day live in someone else's hands.

I'm full of potential and promise. I just never follow though.

All the opportunities in world. Mostly, I piss them away.

Oh, I eat fine. I'm been clever enough to get by in the edge roles. Some of those pay well.

Never managed to be the core solid guy, though. I'm never the guy you call for the sure thing. I'm the guy you call when it's in the fire and no one has any expectations left. Sometimes, I can make it work. Sometimes.

I'm the sort of son a mother admits - and only to her closest friends - that he "hasn't really lived up to expectations."

What to do about the writing? I'm old enough to know better.

It only counts if it is finished. Only counts.

So there I am.

I'm finishing. I've never finished anything in my life.

I have no idea why beyond this compulsion to write for ... me. In the end, I'm really the only audience.

Get a camera. I'm a car wreck waiting to happen. Maybe it'll make the news.

Off to write.

I've got a story to finish.