Saturday, 7 December 2019


My lovely James used this word as we sat on the bed. I was gazing an unbroken gaze at the white light of the laptop screen, not scrolling, not reading. Just gazing to avoid locking eyes and admitting I didn't have the answers. James tried to find them for me, sweetheart that he is, even though we both knew there weren't any.

Disenchantment. I've definitely felt this creeping into my bones over the last few years.
Disenchantment in humanity - the people who laugh when you fall, who shamelessly climb over your feelings, use your ideas as ladders to further themselves, disrespect and disregard your efforts to be, well, better.
Disenchantment in a society which forces a human to work, to grind away their hours of sunlight in a computer screen of emails. Warm regards have never felt colder.
Disenchanted in the prospect of working my socks off for the next three years to save for a house, only for the savings I've accrued to buy me nothing particularly more than I can afford right now due to inflation.
Disenchanted that if I took out a regular-person £185,000/25 year mortgage now, I'd end up paying over £290,000 of that back - and I'd pay off the interest first, because y'know, life sucks.

I feel disenchanted, I feel cynical, I feel like carefully sweeping up my dreams of a happy family life in a cottage in the country into a dustpan, and emptying them out into the wind. I don't want to grind myself down for money forever. It seems so... unartistic.

Anyway, I'm working on it.
Work work work work work.

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