I have about 20 unfinished blog entries in my hard drive. They’re neatly filed into categories. A couple of them even have separate folders to contain the visual representation I affiliate with the overall theme of the piece.
It’s like a clouded pool of thoughts. It’s almost murky, oftentimes resembling the color of Kyle’s pogi pants last week. (It’s yellow ochre for me, but others insisted that they were either orange or khaki.) Whenever I’m craving for a release of some sort, I’ll dust their covers off and bring them out of the obscure corner I’ve lousily shoved them into.
It should be pretty obvious by now. I was never a finisher.
Back in high school, I’d spend summer vacations learning piano pieces from classical music, video game themes and popular songs. But I never had the resolve to complete a whole song and I’ve always had an excuse up my sleeve. If I picked up my keyboard again today, I’d probably only be able to play the pieces from the memory of my hand muscles. That wouldn’t amount to much.
“A myriad of things,” RV said.
I was weirded out at first, but for some reason, I’ve taken a fancy over that four – word phrase. It’s a conveniently packaged mantra for lazy people who do not want to exert any effort mustering up a logical explanation for things they’re held responsible for. Not to mention that it actually adds a certain degree of mystery to circumstance; something fans of mind games may take a liking at.
Let me borrow it, even just for this morning. Allow me to say that, “a myriad of things is stopping me from finishing the things I’ve started.”
I know it’s basically a dumb lie. I could sugarcoat my lifestyle of procrastination in a multitude of ways and for as long as I can. But it wouldn’t change anything.
I’m sitting here, wondering if I’ll ultimately end up just like the painting I saw in the Yuchengco Museum that day: crudely half-baked and essentially unfinished.