I've spent four nights in a row writing something about parallels and connections between two of my favourite artists. It's much longer and more complex than I was expecting it to be, nobody has asked for it and there is a non-zero chance that nobody will enjoy it when it's finished.
I'm still going to finish it, but in the meantime, here's a fact that I can just state and not explore further: I have a drawer in my wardrobe which I have titled PURE, HIDEOUS WARMTH, reserved for items of clothing which completely wreck my physical self-image if I wear even one of them, but if I'm cold then at least they get me warm. Thermal shirts, trackpants, Explorer socks. Pure, hideous warmth.
Now that's what I call: a finished, and not unfinished, piece of writing.