Wait...what?

There must be something about being at the library that causes me to sit at computer #9 and submit entries to this blog. Quite a bit of time has passed since my last entry, though the delay has certainly not been intentional. I've got dozens - if not hundreds - of ideas for blogs running through my mind daily. Most of the time these random ideas spring into my head when I am at work. Not really an appropriate place to drop what I am doing and start typing away my feelings. I don't have internet at home, and when I sign online it's through the use of a neighbor's wireless and the connection is sketchy at best. I usually become defeated, waiting for the page to load and deciding it is too reminiscient of my parents' antiquated dial-up internet. Then I sign off after doing nothing more than checking my facebook page (such a priority) and wandering around on iTunes.

If I find myself at a reliable computer, or even after hours at work where the peacefulness of the office is such antithesis of the day it actually lulls me awake, I reach for the keyboard eager to purge myself of dogged inspiration and enlighten the world around me and...nothing. I've got nothing.

One would think that over the years I would learn to carry a notebook around with me in order to jot down those flashes of brilliance that tease my neural pathways into believing that they do indeed serve a vitally important task of stimulating my often dormant grey matter. For some reason I have become tolerant of my mediocrity and perversely appreciative of my status as an underachiever, as one who is expected but defies expectations. I stand proudly, Belushi in his "College" sweatshirt, Colbert reporting live on CNN, W. ordering whiskey in a gay bar, Sarah Palin speaking at a MENSA conference. I'm out of place, increasingly more so as I age. Knowing I don't belong in my current intellectual & social environment but daring everyone to notice. It's not cute anymore, it's not parent-teacher conferences - no one is going to tell my mom how much potentional I have but lack the follow through. Motivation needs to come from within. I should put some big-girl pants on, take the bull by the horns, step up to the plate and ride that bastard around the bases until it bucks me.

But.

what a terrible fucking word

But.I.Can't.Seem.To.Get.It.Together.

I finally decided that as part of my delayed foray into adulthood I would start taking responsbility for myself, and that meant not saying repeatedly "I can do this - I don't need any help" and standing naked in the mirror staring at all those exposed parts of my life that seem to exist in perpetual chaos and admitting, "ya, ok. I could use a little assistance".

Let me take a few steps back and lean against the wall while I wait for everyone to catch up. The thing is this - sometimes I interrupt myself. Verbally, mentally. I'll be in the middle of a sentence and a new train of thought comes tearing loudly through the tunnel and leaving colloquial carnage in its wake. I forget where I park my car. I lose money. I couldn't balance my checking account or stick to a budget if someone had a gun to my head. I try!...but I often can't seem to remember how much money I have or who I owe it to...or something like that. I start and stop tasks at work and then never think of them again. I have gone to meetings to discuss projects I have been working on only to have no idea what it was I was supposed to be discussing. I miss all varieties of appointments. I started writing a novel and haven't touched it for over four years. It's my one greatest life's dream and I frequently forget that I have the outline and first chapter written. I walk into a room at home for one thing, and then become side-tracked and do something else. Later I realize that I never actually did that original thing. I'm overwhelmed with too many tasks and overburdened with personal responsibilities. What is priority? I don't know! What is a priority? Everything seems urgent, important, top of mind...

I saw a credit counselor. I'm not ashamed to admit. This is a tough economy and if I want to get through it (and retire at the age of 40 in order to live out the second half of my life as an writer), I need to get my financial shit together. At the end of the meeting, after tallying up my new budget, the credit counselor politely mentioned that the amount of money I had left over was impressive, given that most people in my situation have very little with which to save. I wasn't surprised. I know I have the fucking money. I just don't know how to manage it. Pathetic.

I went to an 8-hour class at a local community college called "Increasing Personal Productivity". I skipped to the car and whistled the theme song to Sesame Street, awed at my new-found knowledge and desperate to shove my entire life into the inside of an 8x11 zippered leather-bound planner. Life was good.

I made an appointment for the local mental health center. After years of being teased (always a kernel of truth, I say) and years of resistence, I decided to meet with a mental health counselor and open my mind to the idea that I may possibly perhaps in some slight way have...adult attention deficit disorder.

sigh

This wasn't easy for me! It's tough to be a martyr if you're learning the skills to overcome a disability - especially if someone is assisting you in the development of those skills. Sure, Joan of Arc would have escaped a horrid, painful death had someone said, "Look, Joan: We're all a little concerned about these "visions" and "voices" that you've been yammering on about. Sitting alone at afternoon tea, talking with yourself, calling out to God. We've called in a 5150 to have you evaluated for schizophrenia." Boom! Before Joan knows it, she's on Clozapine, living in a halfway house, working at the local 7/11 and renouncing Christianity for paganism. At most she may make assistant manager, but - ah! - the disabled Joan left to her own devices was made a saint.

I'm not pompous enough to believe I may eventually be canonized if I ride around town on a horse and dress like a man, refuting my shortcomings and struggling with my deficiencies. All I am saying is that I am a bit comfortable being a scatterbrain - it covers me like a warm blanket. It is what I am used to, what I have known.

Or maybe I am just afraid that if I get my shit together I may need actually need to accomplish something?

scary

At any rate, I make this appointment for the other day at 8:00am. This is what happened the morning of the appointment:
wake up at 7:00am
take shower
remember that I have a charity lunch and need to dress nice
pull shirt out of dirty clothes
find pants that I purchased last summer and never had hemmed
select really really high heels
attempt to sign online at home and look up directions
attempt to sign online again
reload page several times until I finally get an address
assume that I know where said address is and that it won't take me long to find it
look for my new insurance card on the kitchen table under a stack of papers and junk mail
give up after five minutes
run out through the garage and am reminded that it is trash/recycle day
pause to look at 3 weeks worth of trash and recycling
decide to wait another week
get in the car and notice gas light is on
start driving where I think I need to go
get lost
can't call office because I don't have the phone number
finally realize the direction I should be going but will run out of gas before I get there
stop at gas station and put the only $5 cash in the tank I have on me because my checking account is overdrawn and I can't use my debit card
find the damn office
suddenly notice the new insurance card on the passenger side floor of my car underneath my checkbook and a week-old apple
go up to the front desk and greet the receptionist at 8:45am
I don't remember the counselor's name
I announce that I am late
she asks me if I want to reschedule
I declare that I was told my appointment was an hour and a half therefore I have time left
she says fill out paperwork and go through intake but I won't be able to see the therapist
I explain to receptionist that I went through a lot just to make it to the damn office
she understands
hands me the clipboard and says she will try to squeeze me in with intake
I pause for several moments and return clipboard
I thank the receptionist
I leave

I've decided that I may not have as much experience as that mental health counselor, but I have just as much - if not more - education. So I am going to cure myself.

Here I am in the library. I came to research ADD in adults. I wrote a blog. The library closes in 8 minutes. I have not yet looked for any books.

Next time, I guess.

Maybe I should jot that down...