Paradocks and Matrices and Middlegroundlandia

When the fine line between adolescence and adulthood widens, blaze forth down the middle. Sirah and beer, Easy Mac and smoked clams.

Now, at twenty-five (25) years (yrs) old (opposite of young), I find myself torn, stuck, lodged – and also dislodged – confined, and nakedly exposed to middle-middle age. Car insurance didn't go down like I thought it would, sparking a tremorous fear that I'll be parsimoniously dissuaded from buying a Corvette during the incipient onset of my future mid-life crisis. 

(I'll probably end up purchasing a 2037 Prius – good God!) 

When I was younger, I despised the effects of ostentatious existence, indeed, of wealth itself. Then: money, money, money, baby! Now, I'm cloud-lofting back to, if not a simpler existence, a simpler mindset. Pure ideology. Pura Vida. 

(Which reminds me, I'm due to go rogue in Costa Rica sometime soon.)

I have two jobs: I'm a dock master at a small marina, where I wear flip-flops to work (not as cool as it sounds... really...); I'm an intern researching computer programming, coding, and designing at an advertising company, where I wear slacks and a custom-fitted collared shirt (cooler than it sounds... kinda). I'm making a matrix, and, in doing so, learning that The Matrix is far more accessible and enjoyable than developing a real one.

Life is a paradox.

With a beer in one hand, a Shiraz (Syrah) in the other, a box of Easy Mac, a shell of smoked Cajun clam, I am a contradiction. I am the middle of the road.

I like it like that.