Something troubling about this scene. It’s 3 pm, I’m sitting on the couch reading a book and out on my back porch are at least 3 guys who’ve been working since the morning. They’d then go on to work until a little after 7 pm – likely putting in a solid 10+ hour day. They’ll go back home after earning, I mean truly earning their $15/hour. By going home, I mean they’ll likely have to drive 30-45 minutes away to a residence that is likely not their own. Indeed, they’ll probably share this residence with another family, maybe even taking turns on who gets to sleep on something other than the floor.

Meanwhile, I haven’t done a single honest day of work in several months. Even when I was working full time, how many days were actually that hard? Yet, I feel no pressure to change. I have barely lifted a finger to change this situation the whole time. “Enjoying my sabbatical” as I like to say. Comfortable. Drifting along. Doing what pleases me.

This is the troubling aspect of mountain town life that continually gnaws at me. The haves and the have-nots. I hate categorizing myself in the half given that this category also includes the many millionaire and billionaires who occupy the town, yet here I am. The system is broken. The disparity is real. Can life ever get back to a place where this doesn’t exist? It’s somewhat sad that these thoughts slowly fade as I drift back to my hallucination brought about by a dead tree and some ink.