In my work life, nothing ever seems 'done'. You do entries which push other entries, make decisions which push other decisions and activities, and get 'done' with your part but the whole thing is never done.
Writing seems to be a tough place to say, 'done' for me, too. I'm a polisher, a tinkerer to the point that my dream self warns me in dreams, stick to basics.
Getting to the point that it's overdone can ruin things. I've left parties where I thought all the organized activities and decorations were overdone. Some clothing people wear are definitely overdone.
Sometimes you know from emotions when something is done, especially in relationships, when situtions have festered until all your energy is spent and you say the words, "I'm done." That usually comes after painful self-examination.
It's so much easier with other things to see that they're done.
When no more paper is on the roll, that roll is done.
If you're at a casino and you're out of money, you're done except for the crying.
Cut the grass, it's done.
Once you've cleaned up after making your home repairs or improvements, you're done. And when the car is vacuumed, washed, dried, waxed and polished, you're done.
When you squeeze the toothpaste tube and only manage to emit whiffs of peppermint, spearmint or cinnamon, no matter how matter times you unroll it or how tight you twist the vise, it's done.
No more milk in the container? Nothing in the wine bottle? Done.
No food left to eat, you're done.
Getting an annoying slurping sound while trying to suction out a drink's final drops through a straw is, according to my Mom, proof that you're done, and you'd better quit while you're ahead.
Pressing on the whipcream button and getting something out that resembles white splatter spackle is a sign the whipcream can is done.
When you're boiling potatoes and they're resembling cells splitting to create new life, they're probably done.
If your pizza's crust has achieved a blackened crust and its cheese is darkening into brown, it's done.
My Mom used to scare the hell out of me every year. She liked to make a pork roast with saurkraut and mashed potatoes dinner for New Year's Eve, with crescent rolls. But she was never sure if the pork was done. Every year she would fret over whether the pork roast was safe to eat. That's when I learned food can kill. It all smelled great and looked delicious but that pork was cackling with death's sinister overtones. Thanks, Mom.
Turkeys, cakes and breads are harder to discern as done. We use the clean toothpick or clean knife system in cakes and brownies while we eyeball bread and the timer. It's a lot more art. Cookies and pies are somewhat similar.
Our turkey roasting is limited. My wife is a vegetarian. It seems like a lot of fuss to roast one just for me, although I would be sharing with our home's feline population. (Those of you allowed to live with cats will understand.) We usually buy and roast a turkey roll or a turkey breast. I hear from friends that they're a lot easier to roast than back in the last century. You can buy them in bags so you don't need to baste them. A little pop up announces, 'done'.
That's what I need for my stories: a little pop up springing out of my computer telling me, 'done'.
Now I'm done.
I know because a little thing just sprang out of my forehead telling me so.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com