I know the theme of everyone’s writing is always the same. The days/weeks/months/years go by in a flash. But this year really takes the biscuit. 2016. Where did you go?
In recent months life has been occupied by thoughts of why we bothered to move house in the first place. The process was long and stressful. The result has hardly been worth it, and costs us an absolute fortune. We’re a bit confused as to why we did it now. Though we get more privacy here from nosey neighbours, it’s a harsh trade.
We tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to investigate whether we’d be able to afford to buy anywhere. Apparently the advice is to wait until next summer, by which point we’ll be forced to stay further in this house anyway due to the end of the tenancy agreement. J and I talked and have generally agreed that the next move we make really has to be into a house of our own. I don’t want to have all of that rubbish again just to move into another – what can only be temporary – rented house.
Life is ticking away relentlessly though. I’m now sailing deep towards mid 30s already. I look back at old posts on here and get depressed about how young I was when I was writing some of these things. My life has barely changed and yet everything has. It’s a huge exercise in futility. How to exist for the sake of existing because there is no alternative but death. Much like blogging. We write because we have to. No one really cares whether we do or we do not.
So it’s now December. I look visibly older. J does too, although he looks healthier month by month as the slow but steady effects of no longer being overweight take hold. That’s nice, though ultimately frustrating. I know he has his own mental issues regarding his appearance. He talks about it from time to time. The things that gets him down most of all is the fact that he’s lost all the weight he did have, and yet is left with flabby spare skin around his stomach. It won’t go. It has gone from everywhere else: face, arms, upper chest. It’s like it’s all sunk down below. He’s gutted by it. I wish I could help. I tell him it doesn’t matter to me, but it hurts him I know. Despite all he’s come through, despite how different he must be now to what he was then (I’ve no idea, he has no photos allegedly) – he still wants more.
I think that’s the general principle of life. We know it all too well in our work, which is very stressful at the moment thanks to Windows 10. There’s never enough to satisfy people. And eve when you move on and satisfy a desire, the demands just move higher.
That rings a bell too regarding the other business I’m now only peripherally involved with. Its owner is a happy-go-lucky chap. But his vast resources (circa £80-100k gross income per year right now) are never enough. More, more, more. Christmas. Birthdays. Holidays. Anniversaries. An endless cycle of spending.
It makes the world go round, apparently.
I guess that’s why we aren’t happy where we are and want our own house.
Perhaps we really ought to re-assess. Endless spending is not the solution. It does not make you happier.
I knew this when I was a teenager. Why do I doubt it now?