Your villain form cannot close the loop. The project needs one email. The trip needs one booking. The masterpiece needs one final pass — and so it shall remain, enshrined at 98%, forever, because finishing means it can be judged and unfinished means it's still perfect.
You have a museum of almosts: the nearly-launched, the barely-unsent, the one-chapter-short. Completion anxiety dressed up as high standards. The last two percent knows your name and whispers it at night.
The absurd part: you're the finisher, constitutionally — when you DO close something, it's flawless and everyone knows it. The upright World is the dance at the end. Send the email. Ninety-eight becomes a hundred in one keystroke. Dance.