Greetings from the mid-ground

If the meteor gets me tomorrow, let it be said that I had reached this place.  This place, having been told I could not get here (and that I should not even try, for that matter) turned out to be within reach, and more, far more, than I could have imagined.

So, while on paper (here at tax-time), I appear as a barely subsistent contractor, a statistic well below the poverty line, the truth is I’m living the life of a fat cat mack daddy surrounded by creative types, fancy shows and barbecue.

How?  This is where I insert an add for a self-help book.  No, no.  The answer must be – carefully, and with plenty of socialism.  I drive a co-op vehicle, live in a co-op, make art co-operatively and trade my skills for protein from a fishing co-operative.  Looks like a pattern to me.

If  it all turns out to be a house of cards, a fool’s journey ending in misery, poverty, loneliness or any of the other apocalyptic scenarios for which I was forewarned, then let this note be a signpost in time, a picture of when I knew for a fact that I had it really, really good*.


*Don’t hate me for being self-satisfied.  It is a fleeting experience and best, and hey, I could be completely kidding myself, wasting my days in idle pursuits instead of , say,  paying into a pension like a wage-earning, smart guy.



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