Frankly I am amazed I can sit down to write something and complete it. Wait, I have a whole folder of uncompleted writings. I refer to them as poetry litter. You know all those starts and stops that fill up your documents folder on your computer. Ideas will flow and then there is a roadblock. I stop with the grand intent that I will eventually get back to it, but another complication arises when I can't find anything because I forgot the title of my last effort. Frustrated, I attempt being organized by sweeping the unfinished poetry into a file titled "Poetry under construction." (Probably you have made the correct assumption that it is a large file.)
Yes, my head is full of ideas. Some should get proper consideration, others should just be erased. I seem to not have much control over it. Their are those who have suggested I get therapy, but I refuse. I don't like the "idea" of someone attempting to guide me into becoming normal.