It sucks “on high heels” (i don’t know if it’s me who could be said to have coined that phrase, but i’m over- and abusing it—it was me, then i have to give credit to the obvious inspiration, Mötley Crüe‘s Hell on high heels) when i realise my own limitations. The real problem is that they are plenty. First of all is that i’m bound by the seven sins. Wrath, which just flashes for a moment leaving minutes of regret. The be(a)st within? Lust, which i try to censor out of myself using the method of good old Big Brother: consider it a thoughtcrime (sorry, crimethink). Not easy. Greed. Oh yes, my prescious. Close friend to gluttony, i just wonder my hunt for experiences in life categorizes to which one of them. The problem with that hunt is that it lacks a goal. Thus the trophies collected are more or less totally devoid of any value. (Yes, i’m using english i never used before.) Envy. Same as lust, but about a chintillion times more difficult to overcome. Envy those talented. Envy the better. Struggle to be just as good, then everyone please greet sloth, who just stops me, then handing over the baton to wrath, the anger of helplessness. And the rotten pride which makes me think i’m someone, accomplished something ending in placing myself over others.
Change of subject, 42 is not a good meaning of life, the universe and everything, because it doesn’t set a goal. And without goals, it’s very difficult to float in the “right direction”—precisely because there’s no “right direction”.