42

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. For someone who’s job is to know what to say, that comes off a little frowned upon. All I have to say is this: How much can a person take before they're irrevocably broken? Now here's your answer to life, the universe and everything. Here's your 42. But you see, here’s the loophole, you didn’t expect it to be easy, did you? Knowing exactly what you want out of life does not come with the required quota of flexibility that handles the disappointment that undoubtedly ensues. You’d be naïve if you think what you want will come your way just because you had enough clarity to figure it out sooner than most. With complete confidence comes the need to radically rebuild everything when it’s torn down, and the need to pretend it’s still there when it no longer is. Problem is, when you can’t find it in you to work anymore, then what happens? How does one work when they no longer have anything to work for?

I guess what I wanted to say is this; looking at this snowglobe, I can’t help but wonder whether santa likes being caught in a snowstorm inside a glass sphere that’s no bigger than the palm of one’s hand.

I have never felt so defeated.