Running afoul in the city

Wet city, much like wet dog, smells bad. It's the kind of stink that fills your nose with its musty, rotten scent. And rain in the city is definitely not refreshing, not in the way raindrops on grass and trees clears your nostrils and brightens your brain.

I imagine the smell of wet garbage juice does much to put one in a foul mood, as I was this morning.

But that's the case most mornings. It dawned on me today when I was complaining for the umpteenth time about something or other going wrong. Admittedly, it's been a bad week technology-wise, and I've vowed to bring in little food and drink sacrifices to place before the almighty computer (apparently crumbs in the keyboard weren't enough). But pretty much every morning, I'm cranky -- in part because I'm struggling to crank out stories, one after another. I'm also gulping down coffee to keep bleary-eyedness at bay.

But it's also in large part because I want more, I want better, and I want it now. Is that too mid-twenties, think-I'm-all-that excessive? Perhaps.

And in thinking that I forget that at least I'm not bored, as I've been with most other jobs. Better busy than bored. Especially with my attention span.

Hmm, maybe us mid-twenties folks just all have undiagnosed Attention Deficit Disorder?