It's Always Sunny in Los Angeles

          As I listen to Nirvana my mind wanders. I'm not sure I'm the kind of person that can listen to music and focus on something else at the same time. You'd think I'd be able to use my ADHD to my advantage here. Nope, all of my focus is being drawn to the music. My mind fills with melodic mist and I meander for cogent strings of thought. Is there an accordion in this song? Ugh, I can't see my hand in front of my face.
          I sigh and realize it's a sigh of relief. I've had my first good day in a while. I've had a productive, fulfilling day and now Kurt Cobain is cradling my soul in his warm open embrace. Thanks Kurt. I go to my happy place. I'm in an open jeep, venturing across an endless savana of highway somewhere in the Midwest. There's a dog in the backseat, although he's mostly just for picturesqueness. I'm allergic to dogs and this imaginary dog is not a poodle. He's some iconic American dog, like a retriever. There's rock music playing, and I wouldn't object to some affectionate, beautiful dandy in the passenger seat next to me. She's got a smile that melts any bad day and can wear a pair of jeans like it's no-one's business (unless it's mine).
          Signs of adulthood seem to be creeping in on me. Although I welcome the stubbly beginnings of my neard (note: neck beard), I still think it's weird that I've started to wear a belt. I'm not even sure why I harbor this feeling. The feeling that belts are a formal signature of adults, meant for others, but not me. I suppose I've always catalogued the belt as part of a suit. Apparently, it completes the look. One of the deterrents that I've proudly gotten over is the cold reminder of the belt buckle on skin when one sits down. I also wear a watch these days, a recent development. The transformation will be complete when I'm finally living in my own place and you can find capers in the fridge. It sounds like an arbitrary indicator. Groucho Marx insisted that the price of pumpernickel was directly correlated to the value of the dollar. He ratiocinated that the demand of pumpernickel was very static and thus any price change indicated an economic disturbance. He also once smuggled Cuban cigars into the states, and on the customs form, under the heading of purpose of visit, he marked other and penciled in 'smuggling.' True story. TSA held him for four hours.
          Future plans: get bartending license, fix stereo, and make a stew. If I make the stew an irish one, I'd have the makings for a pub. Hahaha. It's always sunny in Los Angeles (except for right now).