Knowing when you're done, or knowing when you're dead

How do we know when we're done? Obviously, there's no good answer to that, not when it comes to life's complicated projects. I've finished a recent stage of edits on my manuscript, and that seductive little voice has slipped inside my head - "Maybe you're done now, my sweet." It could be true. But, I've listened to this voice before, and boy, was I wrong. It was like pulling out a tray of brownies with batter running down the edges and trying to sell it at a bake sale.

In tangentially related news, the President of Venezuela decided earlier this month to disinter the bones of South American independence hero, Simon Bolivar. That's kind of like digging up George Washington and Moses all at once, for Venezuelans/Colombians/Ecuadorans. Theories behind Chavez's motives abound, but whether he was hoping for evidence that the dastardly Colombians killed Bolivar or hoping to prove that he's got some of the old man's DNA in his Chavista veins, either way, Chavez took something that was most definitely done and, well, resurrected it. (Or tried.)

And a sort of flip side of that ... The Japanese government apparently didn't know when to call it quits, for the man they had been deeming the oldest man in Tokyo was apparently dead for decades. Government officials found his mummified corpse when they went to check on him.

So do I risk over-doing it by working my manuscript more (shaking the dirt off bones that were resting peacefully), or do I throw in the towel (and deceive myself into think I've accomplished something when all I've got is a mummifying manuscript)?

I think I need a second opinion. Cue - husband?