Complete

I am so close to done I can smell the way a new issue smells fresh from the press.
A crisp binding. Pages cling to each other as I pull them apart from their touch.

But every time I say it's my last draft, I take a peek at the display and I am NOT happy.
There is something. There is always SOMETHING that can be tweaked. Something that I know would catch my eye everytime I caught a glimpse of it because I know it's there. Perhaps it's better to be ignorant of the imperfections? But what would that say about workmanship?

Flawless. That is my goal.
My brain demands it but my body protests.

Yesterday, I gave in to a 10 minute nap. Unfortunately, I awoke 11 hours later no closer to that goal. And still longing for a few more snoozes.
 
Alas, it is time to throw in my cards and fold. I musn't forget there is a tomorrow. For now, there is only the hope for perfection and the moment I declare it is finished.