I’ve got the ADD. I’m just glad my doctor officially diagnosed me last year. One has to have a written prescription for ADD meds. They’re addictive, or something. A few weeks after my initial appointment with my new doctor, in which we discussed everything, he called.
“I called in your migraine and GERD prescriptions, but I forgot to write you that Ritalin,” he said. “Can you stop by and pick it up one day?”
Months went by. Another call.
“You know you still haven’t picked up this Ritalin prescription, right?”
I kept forgetting, see. Is the thing. Because, you know, ADD. Finally, he had to mail it. Then I took months to remember to get it filled.
Anyway, I love my Ritalin, but it always gives me a bad headache, so I don’t take it any longer. I keep meaning to call my doctor to see what I can do about that.
But I forget.
So, today I took a look around this place and said, “What a dump.” I always have laundry to do, and here’s why: I forget I’m doing it. I’ll open the washer and there will be clothes I washed in 18 aught seven and left in there. Every time. Recently I got a brilliant idea: set the timer on my phone. So now, when I’m doing laundry, after 25 minutes, my phone dings at me, and I have to get up RIGHT AWAY, no matter WHAT, and attend to the laundry. This seems to be working for me.
My laundry started and my timer going, I noticed the rest of the house.
Now, see, when you’ve got ADD, a thing like your coat hanging on the dining room chair? I know a regular individual would probably pick up the coat, walk to the closet and hang it up.
For me, I’ll walk over there, talk to the cat, notice there’s mail on the table. There isn’t in this photo, but we’re being hypothetical. Calm down.
I’ll start perusing that mail. Come across a catalog.
That will remind me that I keep meaning to buy a new rug for my hallway, because in September, I painted my hallway green and my blue rug no longer looks good in there. I have a perfect rug in a shopping cart over on Overstock, but I never remember to buy it come payday.
So I’ll go over to my phone to finally buy the rug, but the thought of my green hallway will remind me that I still don’t know what color to paint the living room, so I’ll start researching colors online, and downloading paint apps, and possibly even leave the house to head to the paint store.
Then, if I do that, I’ll start driving and think, “Where the hell am I going?” and end up getting a manicure.
Then I’ll come home and notice my coat is on my dining room chair. “I should hang that up,” I’ll think.
So my new tactic is to make myself stick to dealing with one room at a time. No matter what tempts me as I enter other rooms to put stuff away, I just have to remind myself, NO. You’re not IN this room.
Today I started cleaning my living room at 2 p.m. I recycled that box up there, I put those clothes in my car to take to the dry cleaner, I hung up that door draft thingy because I won’t need it till fall, and I opened that drawer, there, and got out all my checks.
When I get paper checks, from freelancing or whatever, I deposit them using my bank’s mobile app, then I save the checks in the hopes that one day I’ll take time to ensure they all really got deposited. I tried to do all that today online, but it was annoying, and I could never find any of the checks in my account, and the calendar thingie on the app kept bouncing back to March 2018 and IT WAS IRKSOME. So I called India and explained all that to the woman on the phone.
“You wish to make a deposit, ma’am?”
Does this make anyone else outlandishly angry, when they do that? I just told you this DIATRIBE, and you listened to none of it.
Finally, after explaining self three cranky times, she picked up what I was throwing down, and it turns out? Every paper check I’ve deposited since last July has, in fact, actually been deposited.
Then I cleaned out the living room closet, swept in there, moved all the furniture and swept and vacuumed, polished the furniture while
my phone kept going off, and I’d put laundry away, but COMMAND self to return to living room rather than going off on some, “I should alphabetize my shoes” tangent in my closet.
Now it is 11:00 p.m., and for no reason I can think of other than I’m berserk, I have rearranged the furniture.
I have cleaned no other rooms today, which was my original intent.
Tomorrow, I will forget that, though, so that’s a relief.
Yours, till I — hey, look at that!