The End

I love to finish things.
Vacations. Tubes of toothpaste. Conversations. Books.
Relationships, apparently.
I’m playing a game with myself now where I finish all the food in my house
before I let myself buy more.
If you know me, even a little, you will note that this may only take me until dinner.
I generally live like a frat boy (sorry, Ben) with half a grilled cheese sandwich in a takeout box, a jar of pickles and some fish oil that I keep meaning to take in my fridge.
I had to break my own rule and buy milk so I could finish the Nestlé’s Quik that has been in the cabinet for quite some time.
A counselor friend told my ex-husband and me that, because I like to finish things and he likes to do things, we would have compatibility issues.
It’s entirely possible she was right.
For me, the pleasure in the finishing.
I can anticipate like crazy, but when the doing comes, I ready for it to end.
As I’m writing this now, I realize that this is that same issue of staying present.
Present in the moment of conversation, book reading or toothpaste tube squeezing.

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