The example that first springs to mind when I hear this word could probably very well also fall under ‘wrath’, given the history involved, and how in that stall in the men’s room in a skanky goth bar I used to go out with the guy who was there with me, and also how I’d also fucked his wife who was banging on the door, so maybe I should wind the tape back to about four years before that, when I’d only pashed two boys, and I went to the movies for the first time with the gentleman in question. Just sitting next to him, our arms touching was so unbelieveably arousing that when I went to the bathroom and wiped, I was so wet that my hand slipped and I nearly punched the back of the toilet bowl. That was very unexpected for the girl that I was then.
I think it can sometimes also be hard to seperate lust from all the other things going on in my life, like needing other people’s approval to feel good about myself, or drinking too much, or needing to feel alive to combat antidepressants, or confusing love with sex, or having an overly developed sense of irony, or whatever. I suppose another example that would be appropriate here would be the first time that I hooked up with my stupid flatmate Ben III, and the following weeks. He wasn’t my type of guy – I mean, when I say he was stupid, he was stupid, but one night, he just smelt really really manly (read: sweaty) and the pheremonal connection was like “badoinga!”
On a slightly less disturbing note (I think), the character of Evan on The Secret Life of Us is so exactly my type that it hurts to watch the show cos I want to jump his bones so much.
Right now my head is full of pretty much nothing but lust. I haven’t had sex in a very very long time. Y’all didn’t think that I got OOS from working at a soul-destroying job with a really really bad computer set-up did you? Oh wait…
This one is probably most apparent to everyone as something I have a problem with. The question then becomes “why is it a problem?” Quite frankly, I can’t imagine anything worse than being the type of person who would become obsessed with denying themselves the pleasures of food. To not know the joy of wine and cheese (CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE!), or fillet steak, or fresh baked bread with butter, or even dhal with fresh coriander on top or avocado on soy & linseed bread is just freaky. I use the last two as examples of how food can be goooood and good for you at the same time, but I suppose gluttony comes mostly in the form of ‘bad’ food. The thing is though, if you’re going to eat the ‘bad’ food anyway, then why hate yourself for it? Why not enjoy it? I would like to stop mentally beating myself up for it. I have accepted the fact that I am never going to be thin – I was born huge, for starters – so I would like to enjoy my life. At the same time, partly because I so often don’t enjoy my life, I’m more than a little nihilistic – like, if I’m going to get hit by another bout of crippling depression and decide that this time I can’t get through it, then why should I have skipped the cake? And please don’t start in on the whole “but exercise and healthy food can make you happier” crap, because I know that. That’s why I went vegan, and that was great for a while, although half of my enjoyment of that was a big “Fuck you, dairy and meat! I don’t need you anyways!” defiance that wore off. There’s so much cognitive dissonance going on in my head at all times that I could easily present a seminar on it in relation to the LTSA ads. Oh wait, I did that already…
And of course, gluttony doesn’t just apply to food, cos there’s drinking too. I like to drink. I will probably drink more than you will if we go out together. I like the taste of the things that I drink. I like the social aspect of it. I also like the feeling of confidence it gives me, which is not even about the wine anymore, it’s about me. If one bottle is good, two bottles is better. And while I have a few friends who don’t drink, and some friends who aren’t very in to food, I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable around them if I was eating or drinking, because while I get it in my head, at heart I don’t understand why they’re not indulging in the pleasures.
Have you seen my couches? It took me a long time to find ones as big and comfortable as they are. I am happiest when I am lying down fully stretched out. I hope that when I am lying down on my couch I am in my pyjamas, and that it’s cold so I can have a duvet to snuggle under. I have no idea how people find enjoyment in tramping, or running. A leisurely walk in nice weather with an iPod and comfortable clothing might be okay, but I have bung-ass knees due to the gluttony section, and flat feet so long periods of walking are no fun. I like dancing, if the music and environment is right, but mostly if I go out I want comfy couches to sit on. Part of my perfect week off plan would involve a day spent watching many episodes of a favourite show on DVD. I ❤ the Sloth. I feel no cognitive dissonance about it at all.
I’m a pretty angry person. I’d like not to be, but I’m really really not good at letting things go. Now, I’ve just been to look up the word, to try and figure out if being full of wrath makes you actually do things, because my only reference point here is 7ven, and I haven’t killed Kevin Spacey any time recently. Mostly my wrath consists of me not getting over things, and steaming about them for years and years. I have strict moral codes of things like the Two Year Rule, and if people break them, I get really really angry. I think more people should just suck it up and be miserable instead of hurting people. I am very very angry about people who hurt me and get to have their happy endings, because where the fuck is the justice in that?
I am extremely guilty of envy. I envy people with pretty shiny possessions like houses, and DVD hard drives, and then I envy people without few possessions, who can pack up their lives in a matter of minutes. Mostly when I envy people I try to belittle them in some way – the phrase “skinny bitch” comes out of my mouth an awful lot, or when I see couples making out in public I’ll be like “get a room” when I am really thinking “I wish that was me”. I am envious of anyone who gets to hear someone tell them that they love them. I am envious of my friends who are having successful careers in areas that I want to work in. I am envious of people whose webpages get more hits than mine when they’re not even fucking real, Natalie. I am envious of people that I look down on for appearing to be happy with who they are. I am envious of people who seem to have taken the blue pill if we were going to go all Matrix comparison-y – is the blue pill the ignorance one? Well that’s the one I want. In a way, and this is disgusting to admit, I am envious of people with real identifiable trauma in their lives, and that’s something I spent a long time on when I was in counselling. I would like to be able to say “the reason that I am like this is because ___ happened”, and have it be all nice and easy like that. And if you think that I actually think that other people have lives that are all nice and easy, then you’re a dumbass. I’m well aware that the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s just that it’s often very hard to see what people would be envy about me.
Hello, have you looked up the definition of ‘Hubris’ lately? This links in to the wondering what people would envy me for. Being well-educated, raised upper-middle class and given the opportunity to travel the world before I was ten and having parents I can rely on to back me up? Sure, that’s lucky, but I don’t know if it’s something that I can take pride in, because it’s not something that I’ve achieved – unless we go “yay little sperm, nice work on hitting that egg”. I would like to take pride in overcoming depression, having friends, being a good writer, but it just seems like those are all things that come naturally, or are things that I have no alternative but to achieve, so that seems dumb. But yes, I am condescending. I am snobby. I can cook well, and sometimes am capable of carrying out a good stimulating conversation. I used to take pride in giving really great head, but since the throwing up on someone’s cock whoopsie, my confidence in that area has been shattered. I would like to think that Hubris the site is really interesting, and I’m proud of that, but it’s not like I’ve got a book deal or anything. So meh. Perhaps pride is my least sinny of the sins. Rock on.
I’m not going to tag anyone – when you presume that people want to do things, you make a press out of you and me! – but please feel free to riff off your own if you like.
EDIT: whoops, I forgot
I think this is pretty much covered by all the other ones, isn’t it? I’ll just go with the Hole quote to sum this one up, cos I’ve already wasted too much time: “I want to be the girl with the most cake”. Chur. But actually no, let me change that to say that I’m well happy to pay as much tax as I do, because I want to live in a world where the people who aren’t as well off as I am can still have things like oh you know, housing and healthcare and education…