02.03.06
“Your place or mine?” … “Ummm… YOURS.”
People who know me know that I’m not exactly the most organized person ever.
People who know me well know that my previous observation is actually a hilarious understatement, worthy of a hearty belly-laugh or a spit-take.
The truth is that for the most part, I’m usually a mess, and I thrive on tiny bursts of productivity, rather than a constant stream of concentrated effort. One area where I could really use a few of those little bursts is my apartment.
I literally have piles of unopened mail from months ago spilling out of a kitchen drawer, a trash bag that’s been waiting to be carried across the hall to the chute for several weeks, laundry that I can no longer classify as clean or dirty (and therefore I must wash it all again), dishes that are ready to be washed, but I can’t be bothered to put soap in the dishwasher - it’s all there.
If someone were to come into my place after I was killed in a tragic forklift accident, they would think that I have the housekeeping skills of a homeless person. All my friends, colleagues and neighbors would wonder if there was something under the surface that they just didn’t see. “He was always such a nice, quiet boy. We had no idea, because he never invited us in,” they would tell the local news reporters.
I’m becoming more and more convinced lately that my extreme disorganization is caused by my severe ADD. I’ve never actually been officially “diagnosed” but I’ve taken enough of those online quizzes to know that I’m pretty much the poster child. I feel like the Strattera pill I pop daily for the purpose of controlling this problem really doesn’t really have much effect, while caffeine seems to drastically increase my productivity.
The conclusion that I’ve come to is that I need some sort of stimulant solution, but I haven’t had the patience yet to find a doctor to prescribe Ritalin or one of its siblings. I attempted to get a prescription from my PCP without any success. I suppose that’s because I ought to be going to a psychiatrist for that sort of thing, but the waiting period to get in to see one is discouraging.
What I find perplexing is that the fog of distraction that I deal with in most areas of my life is not nearly as thick when I’m at work. It’s possible that I’m not as affected by the ADD at work because I’m working on things that I enjoy doing, or because I’m not working in an awful, unappreciative sweat shop (don’t worry, previous employers - I’m sure I’m not referring to you).
Whatever the reason, my productivity will most likely end at six o’clock when I drive home, walk into my apartment, and somehow manage to overlook the empty cardboard box that once was a home to the Hot Pockets I ate on Tuesday, even though it’s only 3 feet from the trash can. I’ll step over the socks (in various indiscernible levels of cleanliness) in the hallway, and stumble groggily into my bedroom, where I will watch an episode of Frasier from 1997, take a nap for an hour, and spend the rest of the evening accomplishing nothing useful, before I fall asleep at midnight or so.
The next morning I’ll wake up refreshed, and ready to do it all over again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Tags: ADD, apartment, frustration, gtd, laziness, organization, psychiatrists, psychiatry, psychology, Ritalin, Strattera