It’s Not Actually a Tunnel

I have always had trouble finishing things.

Whether it’s a story, a drawing, a book, or a television series, more often than not I end up wheezing to death during the race and giving up before I can reach the finish line no matter how close I am to it.

They say that you have to finish what you started and I think that’s a good mindset to put on, but the thing is, before I do something, my determination to see it through to the end is so great that, despite my terrible record, I believe with all my heart that yes, I will definitely finish this, it won’t be like the others I have left behind, this will be a masterpiece, blah blah blah.

And then I prove myself wrong. Again.

Is it because my enthusiasm is sand in an hourglass? I don’t know. Maybe? Is it because my attention is a whore? Could be. To be honest, I have no idea how to fix this problem. For me to be able to get to that last period, something needs to be at stake. Grades. Money. …That’s about it. If I’m doing something that will not help me earn anything, I don’t feel compelled enough to finish it. Do I feel guilty about it? Sometimes…I suppose…but the amount is never enough to drive me to continue the task. I can’t imagine my way out of it, either, because I’m pretty bad at lying to myself.

You’re doing this for Figure Drawing class. No, you’re doing it for your mother. The professor will give you a high mark if you put more details there. You’ll make her very happy. That will pull your GWA up. But she won’t pay you for it. The grade will help pay your bills someday. As long as they’re the ones feeding you, they won’t give you a cent for working hard.

We have a winner, ladies and gents.

I’m thinking that this handicap of mine will bring me a lot of trouble in the future. I feel as though it will become so big a monster in my life that if I ever do get a kid, one day I’ll just quit being its mother. Because it’s eating up my finances. Or because I don’t feel like it anymore. I’ll pack my bags and leave without a care. And it won’t even matter that it’s a human being I’ve given up on, not a work of fiction. It simply won’t. That’s how I am.

See I don’t even know how to end this post.


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