BTW, something else about the author,

If you don't know me, or haven't noticed, I have a disease.  I procrastinate.  Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.  Whatever, however, I do pay a steep price for the privileged.  Without getting philosophical or morbid, dreams, wealth, relationships all have gone the wayside for this simple act of "tomorrow."   To some the rewards of commitment and completion were well learned.  For those with whom I share this kinship, ours is a lesson long since misunderstood and never questioned.  It is just accepted as "life."  And to label it as an issue of self-esteem, or lack of, or laziness, or confusion is to over simplify.  My mutation is in the form of the need of perfection.  Perfection, to not be hit.  Perfection, to not be outcast.  Perfection to not be wrong.  Because to be imperfect is to be bad.  However in everything there is imperfection.  Imperceptible except to those that can see it.  That little something that can be better made, or better conceived that makes it unworthy of the effort and thus uncompleted.  Better undone than done wrong.