The problem with me, according to the H, is that I take on too many projects, and complete none of them. I am, it seems, incredibly half-assed (except, sadly, literally.) (This is ONE of the problems with me. There are, in fact, at least several others.) As irritating as it is to admit, he's not wrong. But I think I question the assumptions of the question. At least, some of them.
I realized this morning, as I cried while pulling and hacking weeds higher than my head, getting chicken-poopy-dirt in my eyes, mouth and down my shirt, that some tasks are never done. I might get all 400 square feet of my chicken coop weed-free (not bloody likely, but I can dream) but as soon as I do, barring an unseasonable frost, they'll come back. The hopelessness of this led me to what I believe may be the first day of actual regret at having made this choice. One day of substantive regret in sixteen months is pretty good, I think, but that didn't make it feel any better.