Lap of Luxury

Currently i'm reading "The Brothers Karamazov" by Doystoevsky, and from his vivid portrayal of mankinds wretches provoking a feeling of gratitude for the life i lead, i was almost immediately brought down to earth earlier by amongst other things, a tour of the hotel and private residences available where i work. A singular hotel room containing more floor space than what i consider to be an adequately luxurious(minus storage) home back in England is the norm here.
Whilst being impressed, obviously, by the lives some people lead, it strikes my idealistic side as a pinnacle of excess, in the consideration that, some of these vast residences can sleep about 20 people without issue, and the rich guys who own these only visit to stay perhaps once or twice a year, yet Whistler itself faces possibly its greatest housing availability crisis to date. I would like to imagine my inherent human guilt would prevent me from living the lifestyle of luxury some people indulge in, but this would probably not be the case if i had that kind of money at my disposal. I'm torn between thinking of bloodsucking vampires and simply a service that exists to fuel fantasy, which there is no problem with.

Again, eloquence is seeming to be a considerable problem these days, and while i know what i mean exactly, expressing it is another matter. I'll aim to continue this train of thought soon, my mind and i are alone more than enough hours to cope with it.