Indeed, if I were to autoanalyze (Freud heck off for a second, I want to wage a war against my unconsciousness) this post, then I will say that the "incompleteness" I felt with how superficial it was is indeed a display of desire. For which I always seek to explain but I feel like I can just do more, and more, and more and more (imagine I am playing my keyboard as a piano when typing that section out). I never can "just get it," key emphasis on "just" since I get it and yah can as well in these ramblings. But the "just" part, the "I can definitely get it without problem" is something that makes desire tempting. To never be able to achieve it, this is what Lacan meant by the "Desire of desire" - to always want to approach it but never be able to do so, to dream for the impossible but never do it even within millimeters of one's grasp. Perfection indeed is a desire, if achieved it feels wrong despite being "perfect" - the satisfaction we thought we would get is gone once we supersede imperfection of some kind. Desire drives us but once we stop it, we feel stumped. And now, I feel I want to include more; yet I know I will overload the reader who most likely never even heard of Freud! So, accept this as the drive (desire/lack) for more knowledge for which yah should pursue and maybe get pained (while enjoying) it. Withal, this has been more of an outreach to the depths for those that would never get to hear his name ever.