It's late and I am tired and mentally exhausted. I have arrived here after finishing something that I have been dreading writing for three and a half months. And I don't use the word dreading lightly. It has been weighing on my mind as I watch tv, go to movies, share in family dinners, and hang out with friends. The thought of it has been my constant companion these many months. And now it is done. Over. Completed. But as I arrive here I feel no sense of accomplishment or glee. I had plans to break my fast for just an hour tonight to celebrate. Now I know that won't happen. I imagined I would feel relief and release; this season is over, a new one has begun. Instead of pride I feel disappointment. Instead of celebration I feel failure. Instead of joy of accomplishment I feel like letting tears escape. When did my simple goal of completion turn into one of needing to prove something?