Posts Tagged ‘ADD’

My Brief Flirtation with ADHD Drugs

Posted: May 8, 2013 in ADHD, humor, Life, living, writing
Tags: , , , , , , , ,
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ADHD Drugs.  Tried them.  Worked as advertised but also had some interesting side effects.  I’m not sure I can ever get used to the second head that grew out of my shoulders, but whatever….

I think I went a little nuts when the doctor sat me down, showed me a chart and announced that his findings of my symptoms were almost off of the charts.   “Here’s where normal people are” he said (or words to that effect) as he pointed to a line across a graph.   Then he pointed to a line near the top of the page that went from left to right in a kind of a zigzag pattern “and here’s where you are.”   I was more than pleased; I was ecstatic.

squirrel-dog

There are so many more symptoms to ADHD than just the propensity toward distraction.  Many of us – especially ones with a more severe case of ADHD – become debilitated throughout our lives.  A great many can’t hold a job, a marriage or maintain our health.  Many of us have addiction problems.  I don’t mean just drugs; I mean anything under the sun: sexual addictions, problems with booze, problems with almost anything.  And so many of us hop from one addiction to another.  My dad was an alcoholic, so I was fortunate enough (long before the diagnosis) to recognize that I may have inherited his fascination with booze.  So although I enjoy wine, I was smart enough to occasionally go through dry periods “just to make sure”.   Then I realized that I was beginning to enjoy pot too much (this was years ago, officer), so I stopped taking any of that for a while.  There were a number of other ones – I won’t bother to list them here.

Many of us become adrenaline junkies, often taking horrible chances with our lives while looking for that “high”.   Scratch the skin of a person who gets into way too many car accidents and you may find a person with ADHD.

Socially, we are often just a bunch of misfits.  I never realized it until my daughter and I started comparing notes.  “Dad” she would say “I feel guilty about getting so bored with conversations sometimes”.  I would reply “I KNOW, RIGHT?  It’s like they’re all ‘blah blah my vacation blah blah” and I’m like ‘what time is it? Oh I’ve got to go'”.

Sometimes I even blogged about it.   Like the blog I posted about a guy who was into some of the same types of books I was interested in – only in a kind of steroidal way:  it was all he could talk about, and it bored me to tears.   I eventually realized that the problem wasn’t him, it was me.  (“Sure it was” I hear you say.  “That’s so cliché, man”.  And okay – so it is.  Happens to be true).  Normal people – however “normal” is defined – can carry on linear conversations that have beginning, middle and conclusion points.   I realized that wasn’t the case with me or my daughter:  our conversations were more like exploring birds, hopping from tree branch to tree branch, never landing on the same one twice.   A bouquet of non sequiturs, if you will.   We eventually realized that we were annoying others who wanted to get in on the conversation but felt they couldn’t.   “Can you not stay on the point???” they’d exclaim, exasperated.   “What point?” would be our innocent response.

Our conversations often frustrated ourselves as well, but only for brief moments.  It kind of went like this:  “um, what was I talking about?”  “I dunno” *shrug*   Whatever it was seemed important; it was a point I was trying to get to, only I was too excited by the process of the conversation and so, as usual, the conversational car left the track and flipped end over end into a field of much more interesting thoughts.  Crash and burn.

“Were you aware that there’s an eclipse of the moon tonight?”

“Oh really?  I’d love to see that.  I can’t stay up late though, I have a test in the morning.”

“Well maybe you don’t have to stay up to watch it.  Maybe you could….”

“Oh my God Dad.  I remember the last time I saw the Northern Lights.  They were so beautiful…”

“Was that when you were on that camping trip?”

“With Pete?”

“How is Pete?”

“He’s married now and he’s running his own shoe store.”

(Then I’d think: shoes, running, Nike, “just do it”)

“Hey I’m going to finish the next chapter of my book tonight.”

“Really?  That’s so good, Dad.”

(And she would think “books, Kindle, Amazon”)

“Do you know that Amazon delivers to Canada?”

(And I would think “old news, news, newspaper, columnists, Conrad Black)

“I knew that.  Hey have you ever read any of Conrad Black’s stuff?  The man’s a wordsmith!”

(And she would think “wordsmith, clowns, elephants, circus”)

“No I never have.   That reminds me: Cirque du Soleil is coming to town.  I’ve got tickets!”

And on it would go.  You can just picture other “normal” people saying “okay – just what the FUCK are you guys talking about?”

We’d both look at each other and smile.

I think even my writing gets affected and infected by this type of meandering.  For example: I meant to tell you about my foray into the ADHD drug world.

So the first one was a long-term drug that you have to take every day.  It’s supposed to get into your bloodstream as a constant presence and affect what’s called “executive function” – whereby you retain the ability to not only focus, but keep all of the balls in the air at the same time.  Most people aren’t aware of it: they put their current thought on a shelf – NOT FORGOTTEN, just placed aside for a moment – while they deal with a more pressing thought.  Then when they’re done, they go back to the shelf, bring down the thought and work with it again.  With ADHD folk it’s more like we hoof that thought into the outer stratosphere, completely forgotten and rarely ever seen again.  It’s not deliberate; it’s just the way our minds tend to work and process.   This drug was designed to help patients gain a measure of control.

I have no idea whether it worked or not; I didn’t stay on it long enough.  Just a week.  Just long enough to notice that I was having a very hard time trying to pee (among other things).  It was horrible.  I got worried that maybe my body was going through an unwanted change, until I got onto the net and started reading about the side effects.   So I dropped that drug like it was a flaming bag of dog poop – and I felt better almost immediately.

I went back to the doc who prescribed another ADHD medication that he promised wouldn’t mess me up so badly.  The side effects were minimal and as long as my blood pressure remained under control there wouldn’t be any problem.  I went on it for a few weeks and didn’t notice any change in my ADHD symptoms so went back to him.  He increased the dosage.  I tried it for a few more weeks; still no change.  I went back – and this can get boring so let me just say it took a few more visits until we got the dosage right.   And then, presto!  The required effects kicked in.

I was able to focus; I was able to complete projects; I was able to go places and not leave my iPhone or iPad sitting somewhere for someone to pick up and adopt as their own.  (Can’t tell you how many times I’d done that before).

There were other noticeable effects too.   I started boring the hell out of myself.  Anything I wrote was tedious and long – and complete.   I hated my writing.  My creativity took a noticeable hit.  I figured it was worth the price of being able to be just a little bit linear in thinking again.

Then one day I started having pains in my chest.  Severe pains.  I went to a walk-in clinic and the doctor said my blood pressure was through the roof.  She ordered an EKG (my heart was fine), and then prescribed some nitro.  I quickly realized the culprit:  the high doses of the ADHD drug was affecting my blood pressure.

So I went off it.  Completely.  Cold-turkey.

My blood pressure’s back to normal, and my creativity is back.

In talking with a good friend of mine who is also an MD, we seemed to agree that maybe, just maybe, people are designed to be different from each other, and maybe there’s no real need to alter our behaviour (or as we called it, get into “social engineering”).

I only know I’m enjoying the crap out of life right now, and it’s doubtful that I’ll ever seek help for my ADHD again.  (Never say never though).

Final note:  I hear you saying “dude, your creativity can’t be all that great.  You rarely write a new blog.”   You would be correct:  my blogs are too few and far between and I’m planning to change that.   But – and this is a huge thing – I’m still writing.  I’ve been employed for a few months as a critic for the popular site TVFanatic.com – and I write a weekly review of two shows:  Criminal Minds and NCIS.   Additionally, I’ve had the opportunity to interview two of the Criminal Minds stars too:  Matthew Gray Gubler (who plays Dr. Reid) and Joe Mantegna (who plays Agent Rossi).   If you want to check it out – no pressure! – you’ll find the reviews at Criminal Minds and NCIS.  (My name on there is Douglas Wolfe.)

In the meantime, maybe I’ll just keep playing at life and forget about the ADHD meds.  Frankly I’m having too much fun without them.

Whirling and whirling

Posted: January 24, 2012 in ADHD, Life
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*thinking*  “Shoot, I’m late.  Better call a cab.”

“Wait.  I’m not nearly ready and if I rush I’m going to forget something.  Better get everything together first, then when I’m about five minutes from being ready – THEN call.”

“Good.”  I nodded to myself.  “Smart thinking”

I ignored the brightly coloured fairy lights flitting around in my brain and set to work. 

Lunch?  “Don’t need it – I’m buying a sandwich when meeting with a friend today.  So… check.”

Boots?  “It’s cold out.  Got ’em right here”  *Slips boots on.*

Coat? “Right here”

Gloves? “Check”

Hat?  “Check”

Anything else?  “Wait.  iPad.  Can’t forget the love of my life.”

Laptop for work?  “Got it in the laptop bag.  I’ll put the iPad in with it.”

iPhone?  “Got it.”

Call the cab.  “Ok.  I’ll connect up with my bluetooth earpiece and talk to them while doing a last minute check around the place.”

*Calls cab.*

I go out.  Lock both locks on the door and walk down the hallway to the elevator.  An older woman smiles at me.  I nod back and say “hi there.”

I hear the elevator.  *Ding!*

The door opens.  Something twigs in my brain – so I ignore the elevator and go back to my apartment.   Unlock both locks and walk through the apartment with my boots on.  Grab the new combination lock so I can head to the gym today.  (Lost my last one on my trip to Tofino).

Re-lock the apartment and, as the elevator opens, my phone rings.  I tap the bluetooth earpiece and hear “hi there.  You called for a taxi?”

“Yup.  On my way down now.”

I jump in the cab and,  just as it leaves the on-ramp and hits the highway, I realize that I forgot my security card for work.   So I think “nevermind.   I’ll just have to find a public washroom if I need it, and make sure that I don’t leave the building after 4:30 (unless going home) because I won’t be able to get back in.”   Good.  It sucks, but at least it’s a plan.  I’m not spending the money to tell the cab to go back.

And…just as I get in the door at work I realize that my security card is safe in my laptop back.  I forgot it was there.   “Oh good.” I think.  ” Serendipity.  Thank God for small blessings.”

I get to my desk, plug in the laptop, secure it to the locking cable and turn it on.

I sit back and, after waiting for it to boot up, I finally see the login screen. 

Sort of.  It’s kind of hard to read.

Ah.  I need my glasses.   I reach into my pocket.  Earphones, iPhone….. no glasses.   “I wonder where they are?”   

They’re sitting on the counter at home.  Right where I left them.

I think “what the fuck is WRONG with me?” 

“Why is my brain such a massive blur today?

“Did I take my ADHD meds?”

I did.  It was almost the first thing I did today.

Good thing I have an doctor appointment for tomorrow – because it looks as though they’re not working anymore.

I think “well, I’ll have to buy some reading glasses from the pharmacy across the street.” 

So I do.  Bring them back and sit back down to the computer. 

Uh oh.  There’s a plastic thing securing them – I’ll have to cut it off. 

I get the scissors,  cut the tag and put them on. 

My vision is blurry. 

So I take them off, clean them, put them back on. 

Still blurry. 

Take them off and look at them.  There’s a big scratch across one of the lens.  Apparently when I cut the tag, I was way too impatient.  Pretty much madly assaulted the $35.00 glasses during my haste to use them – and now they’re worth nothing.

Put them back on and decide to use them for the rest of the day.

Later, I meet my friend for lunch.  She says about seven things in the space of a paragraph, and as she says EACH.INDIVIDUAL.THING – my brain captures a relating thought, all of which I want to say to her.  When she stops speaking, I can’t remember a single one of them.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

Sneaky Bastards

Posted: May 15, 2011 in ADHD, writing
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10

It’s funny:  when you take pride in being unique, there are little things that poke you in the back to prove you are not.  That you’re just another variation on a common theme.

Like words, for example.  I like words a lot, even though I find myself sometimes frustrated at the dearth of just the *right* words required to make a point, or to paint a picture.  In writing my book, I’ve taken inspiration from my favourite author, Tom Robbins, who can paint vast majestic vistas with a paucity of Just The Right Words (if you’ve read Jitterbug Perfume you’ll know what I mean).

I like words so much that I pretty much inhale books.  Give me a good book one day and I’ll hand it back to you the next.  Boring words, like those found in manuals, or in a long treatise will only serve to pinch out the flame of whatever desire I had for the object being discussed.  I can rarely finish those.

I get bored way too easily for my own good.  (Yes, that is part of the ADD curse/blessing, in case you were wondering)

It wasn’t all that surprising to discover the appeal of Twitter.  Each tweet is limited to 140 characters, which is ideal because there’s no chance to get bored.  You have time to read (or post) one thought only.  This is good exercise for writers because you have to find creative ways to make your point with as few words as possible.  The bane of every writer, believe it or not, is too many words.  “In order to” is an example of a poor choice.  I took out the garbage in order to make the place smell better would make an editor get out his red pen.  So you turn it around, creatively, to make a more compelling point without losing the essence of what you said:

The kitchen’s ambience caused my eyes to water, and my nose to run.  Not in joy or sickness but in abject horror.  The wallpaper frowned and threatened to peel.  The laughing nemesis was that rotten carton of milk that my darling mate (She Who Must Be Forgiven Everything Just Because)  had deposited into the bin.  My stomach took a hairball hint from the cat, and began its dark dance, up against my oesophagus.   Chest heaving, I grabbed the bag.  There was no time to search for a twist-tie – I just took it and ran down the hall to my symbiotic saviour – the garbage chute, with its sticky handle, crusted with god-knows-what.  Opening it quickly, I vomited the hellish bag of death down its dark gullet.

So, OK – more words were used but at least we eliminated the dreaded “in order to”, didn’t we?

Lately, through my tweets, I’ve discovered a worrisome thing:  it appears that some common expressions have found their way into my lexicon.  Some are obvious, and therefore easy to spot, while others are elusive and subtle.  “Apparently” – is a word used as a comic device in many tweets, usually expressed after making an outrageous comment.  After commenting on that guy’s shoes, I suddenly realized I left my testicles in my other coat pocket.  Apparently.

It’s ok when used one or two times, but when everyone on Twitter starts using it, it gets old fast.

(It gets old fast, is another example of a too-often used phrase.  Time to retire it.)

Another sneaky word is “totally”.  A recent tweet from yours truly, based upon an event at work:

Hot Jamaican babe microwaves some oatmeal.

Me: “are you putting some brown sugar on that?”

*awkward silence*

Then we totally made out.


Once again, “totally” is being used as an expression of emphasis, like a question mark.  In using it, I unconsciously followed the pack instead of going for a unique stance.

Time to declare war on these little bastards.  We must remain vigilant.

That is all.

(Damn.  Another one)

The Cats of Creative Invention

Posted: February 21, 2011 in ADHD, Life
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7

Curious kitty

 

“I’m just calling to tell you that you’ve got the job”

The female voice on the other end of the line waited for the exhalation of joy.  She didn’t wait long.

The recipient could barely contain himself.   “I did?  Awesome!”

Awesome?  Kids use that word, not grown men.  “I mean, that’s great.  Amazing.”

She laughed.  “Yes, I did a blind evaluation of the submissions, by asking my assistant to number them without telling me who submit what.  I didn’t want to inadvertently favour anyone.  Yours was definitely the one that stood out.”

He nodded, momentarily unaware that she couldn’t see his body language.  Then he shook his head with a smile.  “I see.”

“Right” she said.  “I mean, I recognized some of the ideas you proposed as coming from you.  Still – you seemed to have the best grasp of what’s needed for the position.”

He was never any good at accepting praise.  Getting the job and the additional praise was almost too much to handle.

“Well thank you.  I appreciate this…..all of it.  I can’t wait to start.”

Enthusiasm.  That’s what the voice was waiting for.

“Great!  So you’ll start in two weeks time.  Does that work for you? I mean I spoke with your current boss, and that’s the date he wanted.  Give you time to hand off your duties to a subordinate.”

“It works for me.  And thanks again!”  He grinned, as they ended the call.

It was a promotion.  He was no longer a supervisor; he was now a manager.   In the large bureaucracy, this was a significant step up.  What’s more – it was a brand new position, and as such there were no employees in his group.  Just him.  He was, effectively, a manager of new ideas for the Information Technology organization.   Basically, he was in charge of accepting new ideas, and then linking the right groups together to work on them.  With the downturn in the economy, many organizations needed to find ways to automate their work, so that they could provide more service while using less capital.  He was tasked with making that happen.

The great news kept him smiling – right up until the flow of work came in.   In his excitement, he had forgotten about the historical effects of his ADD.

One by one, the ideas sauntered in, on unobtrusive cat’s paws, sniffing around the room, checking underneath the cupboards, and then settling at his feet, meowing plaintively for attention and food.   It wasn’t long until opportunity’s door opened wider, and suddenly there was a flood of ideas, each clamouring for attention.

His ADD mind struggled with the competing thoughts.  Almost all of the ideas were bright and shiny and deserving of attention.  He could feel his neck tightening in anticipation of the work involved in vetting them all.  His boss pointed out one major one and merely added to the weight.

The weekend showed up at his door, hands in its pockets, and he sighed with relief.   At his home on Friday night, he battled the tension; he breathed out and tried to fill his chest with air.  The cascade of ideas was still there, waiting patiently for Monday morning.  Some of the ideas even tried to sneak into his mind while he was trying to enjoy the time off.  He slammed the door on them each time.   Monday would come soon enough.  This was the weekend, and he adamantly refused to deal with any of them.

Monday morning blew the trumpet directly in his ear.  He thought he recognized the tune:  “March of the Bureaucrats”.   He sat at his desk, tired, grumpy and a little frightened.  The now hordes of thoughts crowded his feet, all meowing; a triumphant caterwaul of noise.   He thought of a caption for his Facebook page:  The orderly garden of the mind suffers violence when the cats of creative invention come to play.

Certain that he was going mad, he closed his eyes, there at the desk.  Then, he breathed in.  Then out.  Then in again.  Then out.   He kept this up, each time concentrating on his breath, and working to increase the length of time each inhale and exhale took.  It was a meditation technique taught to him months ago by someone he loved.  He knew it would work.  It had to.

He felt the tension leave his neck and shoulders.   The idea-felines were still crowding him, but their incessant roar had mellowed somewhat.   He opened up a new document and started typing some of them in.   He noticed that as each idea made it to the page, the roar lessened, just a bit.   And so the day progressed.

His boss spoke with him later in the day.   When she told him of one of her suggestions – that at some point he might want to get into project management – he felt the tension return.  This time he confronted it.

“I don’t tell this to many people” he said.  “But you need to know.”

“What’s that?” she said.

He knew that there was always the possibility that what he would tell her would rattle her.  He had already figured out that the worst thing that could happen would be that he got bumped back to his old position.  And he knew that this wasn’t a bad thing.  Not at al.

“I’ve recently been diagnosed as having ADD”, he began.

“Oh really? ” she asked.  “I guess it must have been a surprise, finding that out as an adult”

“Yes” he said.  “It did explain a heck of a lot though.   I always wondered why so many people were able to do seemingly simple things while I struggled.”   He paused, thinking.  “Anyway, when you grow up with it, you just learn to cope, and to find workarounds to handle all of the millions of thoughts that compete for attention.   So projects and project management has never been my strong suit at all. ”  He laughed.  “I guess I’m just not a fan.”

She laughed too.  Music to his ears. “Well, I don’t know if I can help you do what you need to do, but maybe we can meet often, at a scheduled time, or whenever you need to meet.”

He felt relief.  “That would be great.  Actually, I have access to your calendar so for now, maybe I’ll just schedule myself in whenever the time is right.”

“Sounds good to me” she said.

It sounded good to him too.  And after exchanging a few more administrative details, they ended the call.

There was lots of work to do, and he knew his ADD mind wanted it all done right now.   He had to remind himself that it was only day two of his assignment.

He walked out of the offices that day, much lighter than when he walked in.

For a Monday – it wasn’t too bad at all.

Writing That Novel

Posted: October 31, 2010 in ADHD, Life, writing
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60

There is something a little satisfying about meeting a group of people who have something in common with you.  I realized the joy of that when I attended an ADD support group recently.

Having been formerly diagnosed as having Attention Deficit Disorder a few weeks ago, I’ve made up my mind to do something about it.  Contrary to popular belief, the answer is *not* drugs.  Or rather not *just* drugs.  No, the psychiatrist who gave me the diagnosis said “wolf, you need to get to the point where you have more control over your impulses and focus.”

He grabbed a pen and pretended he was writing something.  “Basically, when you do anything at all, you’ll want to be in the moment.  When you pick up the pen like this, you’ll want to be aware of how it feels in your hand.  What part of your fingers are touching it?  Is it rough or smooth?  And when you put it to the paper, you’ll want to be aware of the pressure your hand has to exert to write anything at all.”

I nodded, even as I acknowledged that, with the exception of the rent cheque each month, I NEVER write anything.  And that got me thinking about what day it was and whether the rent was due soon.

The doc brought me back on track.  “So…you won’t be able to do that right out of the gate.  So you’ll need meds initially to get you to that point.  But, the goal is to come to the place where you won’t need the meds anymore.”

I nodded.  This sounded just about, oh I don’t know, pretty much perfect to me.

“You told me you long suspected you had ADD.  What have you done about it so far?”

I looked at him.  “Well, I’ve attended a couple of workshops and….”  I thought for a moment.  “Oh yes!  I joined a support group.”

“You did?  What is it?”

“It’s a group that meets at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health every couple of weeks.”

“Oh yes.  I’m aware of that group.  Good.  Keep going.  And see your family doctor for the meds.”

With that, I thanked him and left.

The other night I met with the support group, and a few of us “newbies” split off into a separate group, where we were encouraged to tell our stories.   When it got around to me, I had so many different things to say, and I wanted to say them all at once, that I got stuck.

“Sorry – there’s about a million thoughts going on right now.”

They all nodded knowingly.  Every last one of them.  They knew.   They knew exactly what it was all about.

Awesome.

Earlier, we had discussed Executive Function – that process in everyone’s brain that allows you to consider several things, categorize them, and put them on various shelves in your mind, so that you can pick them up at will and work with each one individually, until completion.   The classic ADDer doesn’t have a fully functioning system.  We take all of those things and we want to process them all at the same time.   Executive function allows you to start and stop actions, anticipate stuff and adapt to changing situations.   The lack of it can really mess you up.

Here’s the thing:  when you grow up in this state, you have no idea anything’s wrong.  You watch other people complete projects fairly easily, and you think that maybe you’re just not smart enough (because you know you’re *lousy* at doing projects).  I used to truly truly HATE it when the teacher assigned projects to us.

Then, later on you realize that you really do “get” a lot of concepts, and often you’re leaps and bounds beyond others.  So you know you’re not stupid.  So you conclude maybe you’re just too lazy.  Input from others (teachers, parents, friends) seems to confirm this self-analysis.

You discover you have a penchant for seeing “the big picture” in any situation.  You realize that you’re well suited to managing conflicts, mostly because you can simultaneously see various viewpoints at once.  You understand how they got there – and you understand almost instantaneously.  Seems like a wonderful trait to have.  And by God you’ll accept that one, since you’re such a miserable failure at other things.

You often do hilarious things too.  Like turning on the tap to fill up the sink so you can do the dishes, then sitting down at the computer to work on something, only to realize twenty minutes later (if you’re lucky) that you left the tap running.  This unfortunate circumstance is confirmed as you walked out into the hallway, straight into a mini-lake.

Or you come home from buying groceries, some of which are frozen foods.   You put them down to get the key out of the door.  You realize there’s a program on TV that you wanted to see, so you put the keys down and go turn the TV on.  Then you remember an email that you wanted to send, so you go into your office and bang it out.   Then something else, then something else and then it’s time for bed so you brush your teeth and hit the sack.

The next morning you come out the kitchen and you see the now-smelly “frozen food” that you left out the day before.

This is my life, folks.

There are a lot of positives about the ADD life:  there’s an incredible creativity that comes with the “gift”.  A lot of actors and comedians get into the entertainment business because of this knack they have.  I’ve done improv comedy and I have to tell you:  that was one of the highlights of my adult existence.  It takes you back to the time when you were a kid, and anything was possible.  “What if I was an old man, with a young trophy wife who wanted me dead?  Or what if I was a pimp, with a stripper girlfriend and a four year old child?”

You get to play all these parts (the stripper/pimp thing was played out in real life on a crowded bus one day, to an unsuspecting audience.), and you have so much FUN.

The downside:  you take on projects and never complete them.  Not without some prompting.  Also – you can barely stand linear conversations.  You get so *bored*.  So easily bored.  It’s one reason I hate telephones.

There’s one personal project I’ve had on the back burner for quite some time.  There’s a book I want to write.  I have several concepts that I really want to share in it.  When I say “quite some time” – we’re talking a few years here.  And I’ve started it several times.  Each time I got distracted and lost momentum.

A good friend of mine mentioned a once a year event, called NaNoWriMo.  That’s a kind of awkward acronym for “National Novel Writing Month”.  It’s a trans-continental event that takes place mostly on the net.  The shared goal of writers everywhere is this:  we have to write 50,000 words in thirty days.  Entirely do-able – and this is evident by the fact that so many writers manage to do it every year.  It’s been in existence for I think twelve years, and each year there’s an exponentially larger list of participants.

The other night I attended the local Toronto NaNoWriMo kick-off party.  We had a ball!   There’s going to be an all-night event where some of the participants get together at a large house, specifically to write as much as possible during the night.  I frankly can’t wait for that one.

There’s another event, where we get on the subway at one end of the system, and we ride it for as long as possible, just writing away.

This is the aspiring writer’s ADD dream:  to have input and a goad to get this particular goal accomplished.

I am *so* grateful to my friend Katy for having introduced this to me.   She’s done NaNoWriMo herself, with great success.

I will too.  Part of the method for getting this done involves making myself accountable to others.  Telling as many people as possible about it.  Potential embarrassment is a killer motivator.

So….this begins tomorrow.  November 1.

You likely won’t see much of me during the month.   I get emails when you leave comments on my blog though.

So here’s the deal:  if you’re so inclined, please drop me a comment here at the bottom of this blog, now and then.  Ask me how I’m doing.

I promise to answer.  And I will tell you the truth.

Oh man.  This is going to be good.

Fickle Butterflies

Posted: June 28, 2010 in ADHD, Life
Tags: , , ,
20

“My thoughts are like butterflies”, he said.  “They’re beautiful.  But they fly away.”

It was a lament offered up a little boy, and quoted in the book “Delivered from Distraction”.

I nodded furiously.

Kind of stupid isn’t it?  Nodding at something you read in a book.  Sort of like clapping at the end of a movie, when you know none of the production folk or actors are there to appreciate it.

All of my life I’ve heard about ADD and the favourite companion topic: Ritalin.  Usually, Ritalin is said with a slight hesitation, or in some circles, a gasp.  It was the go-to drug for every unruly child (or so the legend goes).  It became the excuse drug, the alternative to discipline as an answer to bad behaviour.

ADD has been relegated to the annals of mental illness.  A disorder if you will.  Something We Don’t Talk About.

Not surprising, then, given its history, that some people get annoyed by the topic.

I was aware of this ambience around ADD all my life.  Aware but disinterested, really.  I couldn’t have cared less.  I know my sisters were on Ritalin for a while, but didn’t know why.  I knew they didn’t exhibit bad behaviour.  Being a kid myself at the time, I just didn’t pay attention. (Did you know that ADD only affects about 4% of the population, on average?  Not quite the catch-all most people have assumed over the years).

I was not an unruly kid either.  I mean, well I was at first, before hitting kindergarten.  I ran away a lot.  Not because I was angry at Mom.  It was because, like most little boys, I was curious.  Probably a little more curious than most, because I wasn’t really running AWAY so much as running TO – whatever it was that caught my eye.  One of the earliest memories was of riding my tricycle down the street and into a construction zone.  I remember my Mom being so very angry (read: worried), and I recall getting a spanking out of that deal.  The first of many, actually.

They say that ADD is the comedian/actor’s disorder.  There’s a reason for that.  The same condition that provides a lack of concentration in so many of us actually promotes creativity.  It’s not that we can’t focus, it’s that we focus only on bright spots.  For many of us (me included) it’s actually a plus, in so many ways.  A lot of ADD folk don’t like the idea of taking any kind of meds for it, because they’re worried they won’t get those bright ideas anymore.  Rick Green, who is a producer and comedian and an actor – said that the meds actually don’t stifle his creativity at all.  It allows him to corral those same ideas and follow them to completion.

Another myth:  people who have ADD can never focus.  In fact, the opposite is true.  We either lose focus easily, or we hyperfocus, to the exclusion of all else.  We can be so heavily focused on something that we won’t notice that there’s a fire in the house.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been late for an appointment, or forgot something really important, mostly because I was hyperfocused on something.

There’s another aspect of ADD that you may find to be of interest (and we’ll make this the last one for this blog).

Over the years, both here and on MySpace, I’ve spoken about my various forays into activities that turned out to be suspiciously addictive.

The other day, when I sold my doctor on the idea of buying an iPad (mentioned in the last blog), I asked for a refill of a narcotic prescription to alleviate migraines.

She said (as she tends to say every time this prescription is refilled):  “when’s the last time I gave you this?  Don’t want you getting addicted to them again.”   

Every time she says this, it irritates me.   She makes it sound like I could so easily become addicted and need to go into rehab or something.   So, this time I addressed it.

“Doctor, I wonder if we could spend a few minutes talking about addictions and ADD?”

She leaned back, and peered at me over her glasses.  “Sure.”

“Years ago, I developed a dependency on this medication….”

She interrupted with “yes you did.”

I continued.  “But I weaned myself off of it, gradually.”  I wanted her to know that back then, that *I* took control of the addictive behaviour and did something about it.  That the change in behaviour wasn’t forced on me; it was something I chose to do, on my own.

“I then got into drinking wine, actually quite a bit.  So much that it scared me, so I stopped drinking it at all for quite a while, just to make sure I wasn’t an alcoholic.”

She gave me her rapt attention, and I could tell she was actually listening.

“I got into pot, with the same results, and with the same concerns, and took myself off of it, just to make sure I didn’t actually need it.   And I’ve done the same with fatty foods and chocolate.”

“So” I said “I’m aware that people with ADD have a tendency towards addictions and addictive behaviour….”

“That’s right” she said.  “And it’s good that you’re able to recognize it and do something about it.”

I nodded, satisfied that I’d made my point, and so we sat there, silent for a while.

“Doc I really don’t know what I’m asking, here.”  In truth, I wasn’t asking anything. I just wanted her to acknowledge that I’m fully aware of all the dangers of narcotic medicines and am therefore armed against abusing them.

She said “maybe you’re wondering about the science of it all?”

I nodded.

“Well, people with ADD are lacking stimulation, so they tend to self-medicate where possible.  That’s what that’s all about.”

She was silent for a moment.  “In fact,” she said “for all the talk about alcoholism and drug addictions being an illness, I don’t buy it at all.  If it was truly an illness, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself.”

I agreed with her.  “Yes, even when I was heavily into wine, I can tell you that I wouldn’t have sat in front of my boss with a bottle in my hand.   So there has to be some measure of control.”

She nodded, and we finished the appointment.

The bottom line is that addictive behaviour, while not in itself indicative of ADD, it is one of the many factors.  In fact, when a person displays any of the individual factors, it doesn’t necessarily mean that person has ADD.   It’s the combination of those factors in overwhelming numbers that may indicate it.

And it’s not always a bad thing.  In fact, with a bit of control (read: cognitive therapy and meds), ADD can be the best thing in the world.  I certainly see it that way and am looking forward to exercising some of my creative ideas to completion.

I mean – I really like the shiny butterflies, and would rather see them stick around a little longer than they typically do.

In Search of Logic

Posted: June 9, 2010 in ADHD, Life
Tags: , , ,
17

They finally caught up to me.

It feels like months ago that I learned that the ADHD doc who was supposed to see me in July died.  At least a month ago.  I wondered back when I heard the news whether I would show up on the scheduled date, only to be met at the door by a clerk, dabbing her tearful eyes as she informed me the doctor was OUT and would, barring a miraculous resurrection, never quite be back in.

It was with some surprise that I picked up the ringing phone today to hear the subdued voice of that same clerk, who was finally getting around to letting me know the good doctor had joined the howling chorus of angels.   That he had shuffled off his uncaring mortal coil, and that he had slithered into eternity with his bright aviator sunglasses on.    That he had pondered his last thought, and had instead pushed his soul past the clamouring ants and worms, on his way to the Ultimate Zenith.

“He’s dead”

“I know.”

“Oh”

*silence*

“Well, we have another doctor who might be able to see you.  Would it be OK if we got back to you before the end of the month with an appointment?”

Such a weird question.  Would it be all right?

All right….. what?  All right that they would get back to me?

Or all right that I had to wait until the end of the month?

How the FUCK does any office run that way?  Where they have to consult with each other to figure out an appointment time?  Or figure out if they really want to see you at all?

What office do you know takes the time to call up prospective clients or patients, to ask them if it’s OK that they get back to you later on this century with an appointment time?  They took the time to call you this time – why not save on time and make the appointment right now?

I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s an elaborate screening process.  Maybe you gotta REALLY want an appointment.  Maybe only the whiners will get to see the good doctor.  Maybe the nice ones will get left out, deemed “not really in need” by virtue of their kind niceness.

You know what?

I made a mistake.

I said “sure”.

I should have said “FUCK NO!  It’s not all right!  I’ve been waiting for months to see someone, and now you’re taking the time to give me a fucking phone call asking me if it’s fucking ok for me to get a call from you later?  What the FUCK is this?  Romper Room?   Do you see me through your magic tennis racket?”

Yeah.  I know.

I didn’t want to be “that guy”.  You know the one – makes everyone uncomfortable with his anger and his disgustingly bad language.

*sighs*

Well…..this time I was nice.

I’ll give them two weeks and when I call back……

I won’t even remember what “nice” feels like.  And neither will they.

Fuckers.

Night

Posted: April 26, 2010 in ADHD, Life
Tags: , , ,
26

“Night time…is the right time….to be….with the one you love…..”

That Ray Charles song resonates.

There’s a life-beat to it, a drawing, a capture that won’t quit, won’t let go.

Night time.

Even the words amaze me.

Long before I figured out that ADD had a place in my life, I knew that the night-time was a friend.   She would glance at me through her long dark hair, her smiling eyes dancing, daring and ready to run.   And we would scamper around the dark city, curious about the next corner, not sure whether what was on the other side was dangerous or fun.  Or both.

There were so many failed mornings; mornings that would see my mother grow exasperated and angry as I struggled to get my act together so as to get to school on time.   Our school band had practice every single day for years at 8:00 in the morning.  And every single morning – every *single* one – I found myself running to school.  I never had enough time to merely walk it.

That should have told me something.

So many nights I became alive and alert.

There were many times after improv class when a few close friends and I got together, to sit under the stars at the top of an apartment building, listening to the sounds of the street.  We spoke of so many “what ifs” and laughed and drank.  It was under one of those night skies that my friend decided that next Hallowe’en he was going to dress as a priest.  My other friend figured that if he was going to do that, she was going to dress as a nun.  They both decided I should dress as an altar boy.  With a slave collar and chain.

We would walk down Yonge St. and scandalize society as best we could.

There was a time, when I was still in high school and didn’t live in the big city.  When I lived in Oshawa, a town that was about thirty miles away from The City.  The train was the only way to get here, and so that’s what I did on occasion.   I remember the first time I walked down Yonge St. too.  (That’s the longest street in Canada, or so it’s said).  It’s the main drag in Toronto, and it contains, per capita, the highest number of light bulbs on any given street you’d care to mention.   There are bars, next to record stores, next to strip clubs, next to department stores, tarot card readers, ice cream parlours and other restaurants.

The street was – and is – *alive*.

That first trek down Yonge St. evidently made an impression on me.  I remember a few hookers looking at my curiosity-filled, upturned, open-mouthed entirely naive teenage face, and laughing at me.

Where ever my feet would take me, that’s where I went.

I remember later trips, this time with friends, where we spent the entire night exploring the city, walking everywhere, laughing as the rain came down and we scooted from shelter to shelter.   The fresh smell of the wet air was invigorating.   We didn’t really *do* anything.  Yet we had such a great time.

It took me the longest time to realize that it wasn’t Yonge St., or the long lightbulbed corridor, or the smells, or the curiosity that affected me so much.

It was the night-time.

Yonge St. during the day is boring.  It’s filled with people, all scurrying from point A to B in the quickest way possible.  It’s what I imagine major streets in New York to be like on a busy day, albeit on a slightly lesser scale.

Night time brings clarity.  You notice things more at night.  Like smells. Glances.  Things.  People.  Lights.

There doesn’t seem to be an end to the night.  You can’t really believe morning will ever get here.   You revel in it, and you wonder how people can ever stand to be out there during the day.

Clubs, bars and curiosity shops each have their own characters that seem (to me) to only become apparent at night.  The light show and driving thump-thumping of dance music in clubs compete with the gaze of strangers, all of whom seem as curious as you.

Here’s the thing:  night-time captures my interest like nothing else does.  The ADD-enhanced frustration of day time business goes away at night.  That white noise buzzing of competing priorities fades away.  Everything – EVERYTHING – becomes so clear.  Like crystal.

I used to make a habit of walking the eight miles from my home to the south-most part of Yonge St..   I’d do this while listening to one of the extensive music playlists on my iPhone.   The  few times I did this last year was enjoyable, even though I found myself totally missing the scenery of that walk.  The music took my mind away on vast vistas of thought.  This happens every time I walk anywhere while the music is playing, and even when it’s not.

My leg is broken right now and I’m not walking anywhere.

But when it’s healed, one of the first things I’m going to do is walk from my place to the south end of Yonge St., again.

This time, I’ll do it at night.

I can’t wait.

Appointment With A Dead Doc

Posted: April 18, 2010 in ADHD, humor, Life
Tags: , , ,
26

My motto at the top of this blog is “Awake, Aware and In Constant Movement”

Well tonight’s the “awake” part.  It’s 2:06 a.m. and I’m just so jazzed to be so vibrantly awake right now.

In earlier blogs I mentioned that I’m getting assessed for ADD.  I just learned tonight that the doctor who was going to do the assessment has died.  I don’t know if I should keep the appointment anyway.  I doubt he’ll be able to shed much light on my situation.

Doesn’t matter.  I can talk better with him dead anyway.  For one thing, he’ll have a hard time interrupting me.

Dead people make such great listeners.  And they hardly ever complain about your hygiene or what you’re wearing either.  I can wear age-inappropriate leather pants with rips and coloured beads and I can wear a t-shirt that says “FUCK  WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I BOUGHT THIS SHIRT” and it won’t matter.

His hygiene might be a problem though.  I can always take off my t-shirt and wrap it around my head so that my nose is covered.   Won’t matter if I’m topless.  My words will be muffled that way but then again – it’s not like he’ll complain.

I’m worried he might nod off though.  Nod off and fall to the floor.

Are dead people shatter-proof or do they just fall apart at the slightest provocation?

He’ll probably just lay there, looking stupid and lifeless.

(No, that’s not what my last girlfriend said about me.  And anyway I was drinking)

(Like I am now)

Roses are red

My doctor is toast

I had an appointment

But doc’s done gone and give up the ghost

Earphones

Posted: April 6, 2010 in ADHD, Life
Tags: , , , ,
24

Apparently, business travellers are prone to deviant behaviour.

I attended a film yesterday, and the above was the explanation offered by the film’s police desk sergeant to a woman whose husband was killed in a hotel room after he apparently made raging sexual advances to a female police officer.

That was only one of a number of unintentionally funny comments made by straight-faced actors in this supposed drama. I wish I could tell you the name of the film but it escapes me. I’m a business traveller on occasion. The only really deviant behaviour happens in my head, where thoughts fuck each other like bunnies, and produce crowds and crowds of little baby bunny thoughts. The curse (or blessing) of the ADD afflicted exploding mushroom brain. But that happens when I’m at home just as much as when I’m on the road.

It happens at work too.

“Sir, I’ve noticed that you have your earphones plugged in all the time. Is that your way of keeping other people at bay?”

I took out my earphones. “Excuse me?”

The security guard repeated his question.

I laughed. “Oh dear God no! I like people! I really do.” I thought for a moment. “This is just my way of keeping all the marauding thoughts in my head from overwhelming me.”

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. (I could never master that. I’ve tried, but each time I’m only able to raise both eyebrows at once, like a sexually suggestive creepy circus performer.)

I elaborated. “Are you familiar with ADD or ADHD?” He indicated he had. “Well, listening to music is a way of letting parts of my mind focus, while another part can concentrate better on the work.” The attempt at explaining the dynamic was valiant, if flawed.

Still, it sufficed. He said “oh. I understand.” Which is more than I can say for myself. Kudos to him.

And why is it that people see these honking in-ear earphones rocking in your ears and still think you can hear them?

Especially bums people of the street. Maybe it’s because they feel they’re predictable and you should know what they want without actually having to hear their words. You scoffing entitled asshole moneyed class, you with your brand new K-Mart sneakers and your oh-so-proud flashy Cubic Zirconium rings, with your “I’ve got a job and you don’t” Cheshire Cat smile.

Don’t know what it is. Maybe I’ve lived in the big city too long. I rarely give money to anyone who outright asks for it. If someone is doing street performance however – I feel grateful for their entertainment and so I’ll throw them a dollar or two. The ones who ask for money though – well, they mouth the words (which I can understand, despite the enticing strains of One Eskimo’s “Kandi” playing in my ears) and I’ll give my customary negative head shake. Some of them respond with “God bless you” which I suppose is better than “fucking asshole”. The thinly disguised attempted guilt-provoking sarcastic response has no hook on me. I’m a red-sun Superman charity giver walking down the street of a largely impotent yellow-sun world.

Maybe some of the people living on the street are there legitimately. Maybe they just wouldn’t make it in the working world. Clearly, some of them would make lousy salesmen. Especially those who come up with a long-winded setup to enhance their begging agenda.

“Sir, I live in Shitsville, Florida, and I’ve lost my passport and wallet to thieves. My wife kicked me out and I came up here to start a new life but now without my wallet I can’t even get to the next city over for a job interview tomorrow so I wonder if….”

“You would like some money.”

“Yes, sir, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sorry”.

He looks so disgruntled as he turns away to try his story on someone else. He hasn’t learned the salesman’s most important lesson: know your audience. He should have picked an openly pleasant smiling naïve person, not me. I’ve gotten so good at deflecting these stories that if I don’t hear what this stranger wants within the first seven words I’ll cut him off and say “look, what do you want?” It’s disconcerting and it interrupts the flow of their carefully crafted con, but it works for me.

I’m trying not to say “sorry” but it’s hard. “Sorry” is a Canadian trait, you understand. It’s in our DNA. We offer it at the slightest provocation, at the mere wisp of a glancing touch. We don’t *want* to say it, but we’re often helpless. It’s not politeness. It’s a reflex.

A blonde jogger was standing at the condiment station at a Starbucks when I was putting cream in my coffee. She wanted a napkin so she reached over me and said “sorry”. Recognizing the impulse I smiled and said “no you’re not.” She grinned. “No, I suppose I”m not”. I cocked my head (which is easier to do than you’d think) and replied “funny how we always do that”. She stirred her coffee, before taking a sip. “Yes. Don’t know why though.” I shrugged. “We’re Canadian”. She nodded, smiling.

Maybe saying sorry to a street person is a form of anticipatory proactive safety. If you say what you really think (“fuck off! I’m tired of people like you asking for some of the money I made working every day, while you get welfare and free meals whenever you want, and I know you just want it for your extras, like booze and drugs. You made a choice, bub, not like the beggars in India who have no choice but to sit out there on the street with their missing limbs and missing teeth. Hey, here’s a thought – gain some credibility – saw off an arm or a leg. You might find people will give you more. I tried giving one of you a meal voucher the other day and he told me to go fuck myself, so now I’m telling you do to the same, aiight?”), you might be asking for trouble. Really, is it worth it getting into a fist fight with a stranger because you don’t want to give him a dollar?

No, it’s not worth it. “Sorry” is better.

I’m not though.

Other people accost me on the street while I’m wearing these obvious noise-cancelling earphones. (Seriously these Shure earphones stick way out of my ears. They’re obvious, like a pair of muddy work boots sitting on an otherwise pristine dining room table is obvious.) Invariably, someone who is new to the city will avoid other walkers and make his way to me, the ONLY person wearing earphones, to ask for directions.

I don’t mind, not at all. But I am curious. Why me? Maybe this is God’s way of tilting the world game so that the only rolling quester can’t help but bump into me.

Sometimes the constant earphones work against me too. Like when I see the gorgeous woman on the subway and we exchange smiles, and I can’t get the earphones out fast enough without looking desperate. By the time I’ve maintained my cool by taking them out gradually, she’s gone. (Don’t ask me how to take out earphones gradually. It’s just possible. Take my word for it.)

Still, I love my music and my earphones. I love how it stills some of the chaos-storm in my head.

Anticip………..ation

Posted: April 1, 2010 in ADHD, humor, Life
Tags: , , ,
28

I woke up this morning, startled.

I could see daylight, and that never happens.   Blearily, I squinted at the clock, which wavered back and forth, like a bad 3D movie.  The damned thing wouldn’t stay still.

“Stand still”

“Um, no.”

I pushed my knuckles into my eyelids, massaging the eyeballs, trying to coax them awake.  I opened my eyes again.

Oh dear lord.  It was worse.

Finally I dragged myself out of my warm – oh so warm, and comfy – bed and staggered over to the clock, which finally relented and maintained a constant pose.

“Oh good.  It’s only 7:00”

Wait.  7:00?  That means I only had………and I tried hard to compute the sleep hours I had tucked into my consciousness.  And failed.   Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.

Stumbling into the hallway on my way to the bathroom I noticed a smell.  I stopped, sniffing.

Then I realized it was coming from me.   The smell was familiar too.  It was like a long-lost philandering cousin.  It wrapped me in its embrace.  And that’s when I realized what it was.

I was bleeding alcohol through the pores of my skin.

Ew.

Strangely, I didn’t have a headache, or exhibited any other signs of being hung over from last night.

I remembered last night and I smiled.   Such a great night.  I haven’t had such a full night like that in a long time.  One thing that happened though:  my companion and I closed the bar.  One of us noticed one of the servers sweeping up and suggested we leave.  It seemed like a good idea, so we did.

As I staggered to the sink, and closed my eyes for a few seconds, realization dawned.  There was a good reason as to why I had no hangover.

I wasn’t quite done being drunk.

That truth brought a grin to my face.   There was time to get on top of this thing, and that’s what I did.  I made a beeline for the water cooler and started loading up, in an attempt to stave off dehydration.

Work of course was a complete write-off.  I tried.  My eyes rebelled though.  Bad enough that they were red and watery.  Asking them to look at a computer screen was too much.  I brought a newspaper to work with me too, and was just as successful getting through that.

Finally, after lunch, I put my feet up on my desk, and thought “just a couple of minutes of shut-eye should do it.”  In theory, it’s supposed to work.  I nodded, and jerked awake, only to hear the ongoing sounds of productive work being done by my colleagues.   Figuring it was safe, and no one could see me, I closed my eyes once again.

And woke up startled once again.  This time, there were no sounds around me.  I’m not positive, because I was unconscious at the time, but there’s a 95%  chance I snored out loud.   No one was that uncouth as to ask about the state of my consciousness.  For that, I was grateful.  Had they done so though, I would have laughed.  What are you doing to do?

It’s not as if I regularly close down bars and try to work the next day.  A family member suggested I “work” from home.  In retrospect – that was a damned good idea.

I gave up trying to nap.  It wasn’t working and I was still pretty much dragged out.  Placing my feet back on the floor, I pulled my chair over to the computer, only to hear my cell phone ring.

“Sir?  We have an appointment for you.”

I was stunned.  I’d been waiting for this phone call for four weeks.  It was the doctor’s office, letting me know I have an appointment to be assessed for ADHD/ADD.  I had been calling them once a week, looking for that appointment, and they hadn’t gotten back to me.

Until now.

I was elated!   Finally – a time and date.   She gave me the details and we hung up.

It’s like you have this limp all of your life, which prevents you from full-out running.   You think everyone has this limp; that it’s normal, and that you’re just not trying hard enough to run, because you see other people around you running just fine.   And then someone comes to you one day and says “you realize that there’s a group of people who limp the same way you do, and that they’re born with this limp, and that there are ways to get around it, so that you can run like the rest.”

The elation only lasted for a while though – I still had the lack of sleep and the after-effects of the full-on drunkfest to deal with.  So I returned to earth, a little regretfully, but happy just the same, both with the memory of last night, and this news percolating gently on my brain.

It’s in the beginning of July.  Closer than I thought but still pretty far away.

Still – I can’t wait.

TV Gem

Posted: March 26, 2010 in Life
Tags: , , , ,
35

There’s a unique sitcom TV show currently playing, called “Modern Family”.

I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that the show is an amazing success, given that one of the creators is Christopher Lloyd.  Still, it surprised me.

Each week, we follow at least different story threads, burped across our screens by the patriarch and his robbed-cradle bride (and her son from a previous marriage); his gay son and his very large lover (the latter of whom wears his overly large heart on his sleeve – you can’t help but appreciate him); and his daughter, her goofy husband and their three kids.  There things I like about it, are: 1) that it tries very hard to avoid clichés; and 2) that it beautifully portrays the heart and soul of a truly loving extended family.   The guys in the crowd who are reading this need not run away at this point:  this is no chick flick.  There’s enough comedy to keep everyone happy, but the thing is:  there are no cynical conclusions being reached here, as is the case with so many TV shows and movies.

The impulse to write this blog tonight, and specifically about this program, comes from a PVR viewing of the show this evening.  Fortunately, there is a variety of TV shows which, because of their exceptional quality, have found a place on my permanent-record list, and this – Modern Family – is one of them.  I say “fortunate” because I’ve been on a work trip to Ottawa this week and so wasn’t around to enjoy these shows.    So I watched some tonight.

This particular episode of Modern Family had one story thread that riveted my wayward attention to the screen for the duration:  it concerned the goofy father and his equally scattered young son.   One of his daughters – the very bright one, named Alex – mentioned in passing that perhaps Luke – the son – might have ADHD.   Luke objects “I do not!  What’s ADHD?”

Alex replies “I’d tell you but….” and at that point Luke wanders away, and she finishes with “you’d leave before I got to the ‘H'”

The more I saw of this story thread, the more I realized a couple of things.  First, that it got the symptoms of ADHD down exactly right.  They didn’t use Alex just to preach to us what those were; instead we got to see it acted out by the father and son, each oblivious to the typical ADHD actions of the other.   The mother was exasperated and was at her wit’s end with her son’s complete lack of focus, so we saw the father attempt to oversee his son as he worked on a school project that was due the next day.

The father had to go down to the garage to get something (I honestly forget what it was, and attribute that lack of detail to my own problems with focus), and as he stepped into the room, he got distracted by an overhead light that was flickering.  So he got up and opened up the light fixture to see what was wrong with the bulb, when he realized, from that new height, that he had found his sunglasses, which were dangerously perched on the top of a shelf.  As we see him lose the focus for the flickering light and latch on to the sunglasses, we hear Alex talking through some of the ADHD symptoms with her mother while the father acts them out.  And we see the light of realization dawn in the mother’s eyes at the same time.  Alex mentions that one of the symptoms involve ADHD folk getting into accidents, while we see Phil (the husband) put a bench down and put a chair on top of it, just so that he can climb up to get the sunglasses on the top of the shelf.  Then we see him fall, just as Alex finishes listing the ADHD symptoms.  Clair (the mother) rushes out to the garage to see if he’s OK (he is).

I was simply amazed at all of this.  Which brings me to the second realization:  I have done all of this!  All of it.  I’ve put myself in danger to fulfill an immediate impulse like fixing something high up and using precariously-placed chairs and tables to do so.  I have had immediate goals, only to have them immediately supplanted with new goals as other items come into focus, with the end result being that I’ll end up at the end of the day doing something completely divorced and disconnected from my original goal.  Many of the goals I hit upon during that day never actually get completed.

I can go into the bedroom for a pair of socks and end up being late for an appointment because I got involved with a photo album I hadn’t seen in ages.

This frustrates others in my life to a high degree.  People who think I’m just being rude or inconsiderate. One friend read me the riot act, because she was so hurt that I was always late whenever we decided to get together.  She told me that from here on in, if I didn’t arrive on time when we were to get together, she would leave.   To be fair, she had a problem with others in her life who did the same thing and she was certain they just didn’t value her enough.

It’s not that I’m inconsiderate or wrapped up in myself.  Let me tell you what it is though:

These baubles, these shiny thoughts and interruptions hit people like me with their immediacy.  Knowing my propensity for losing focus has meant that I worry that some important things won’t get done.  Hence, the habit of putting myself in physical danger in order to fulfill the impulse *now*, before it has a chance to run away from me.

I also talk very fast sometimes, and people have to tell me to slow down.  I now realize:  it’s because of the thunderous crowd of thoughts that I want to make sure and touch on, and I’m worried I’ll lose them before getting a chance to say them.

Some of us use lists to make sure stuff gets done.  I use my iPhone and make sure everything that is critical gets scheduled.  This works to a degree because each important item is attached to multiple alarms.  And really, what better way to gain focus on the important stuff than to have a jingly little bell taking your focus and forcefully and repeatedly reminding you?

“Ding! Ding”  (Oh.  Time to get ready for the next meeting.   Wait.   There’s that email I was looking for.  And there it is right there – he *did* say he would take on that responsibility.  Maybe I’d better send it to him just to remind him.  And….wait.  Is that the new meeting notice I’ve been waiting for?  Wow.  I wondered——)

“I said DING DING, BITCH!”  (Right.  Get to the meeting)

(Ok that was a joke, but maybe I should design an actual ring tone that says that.  Maybe I can find one that’s already on the net somewhere…and….)

*waves single finger in front of my eyes*  FOOOOCUS.

Right.

Maybe you have these symptoms.  Or maybe there’s someone in your life who drives you just to the edge of insane, and you know if he or she misses one more appointment, or falls and hurts him or herself one more time, you’ll go over the edge.

Anyway – it’s something to think about.

(I hope that TV show wins an award or something)

NightWolf

Posted: March 22, 2010 in Life
Tags: , , ,
22

Some things are designed to fail.

Right away you’re thinking of that car or gadget you own, that has a one-year warranty, and you’re recalling how, one or two days after the warranty ran out, the ass end of whatever it is you’re thinking about fell off.

While that’s funny (if you’re not the one who owns the thing) this isn’t what I wanted to talk about.  You can, though.  Down there in the comments.

I was thinking about how you can be your own worst enemy, and that sometimes, failure can be a good thing.

Ever since I was a youngster I’ve been more alive at night.  I have no idea why this is, but I’ve grown to accept it.  Some of the best ideas come at night, and some of the best passions present themselves in the late night/early morning hours.  There’s just a clarity there, a shining sharp-edged knowledge that you can’t ignore or pretend isn’t there.

Lately, having come to terms with what I think might be an ADD issue, there has been acceptance of the fact that when my mind gets going – usually in the early morning hours – it’s pointless to stay in bed, tossing and turning.   Sometimes it’s possible to fool myself:  I’ll pretend that someone has come into the bedroom, someone I don’t want to talk to, and I’ll just lay there mimicking sleep.  The mimicking part is what does it:  time after time, the pretend-sleep has turned into real sleep.   (Man, I’m so happy when that happens).

Lately though, it hasn’t been working.

And sometimes I stay up long past the time when I should be dozing off.   Take this past weekend for example.

I knew full well that the limousine would be arriving at 7:15 a.m. Monday to take me to the airport.  I knew this, yet made the choice to stay up very late on Saturday night.  In fact, I didn’t hit the sack until 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning.  (What?  I was thinking, and writing and having a blast)

So of course I made a point of going to bed on Sunday night at 10:00, figuring I’d get up at 5:00 a.m., thus allowing a seven hour sleep.

Yeah, right.

10:00 came and went, and I hadn’t gotten around to crawling into bed.  I forced myself to go to bed at 11:30.  I thought “Ok so that’s five and a half hour’s sleep.  Not so bad.”    Something inside told me that wasn’t enough, so I set the alarm for 5:30.  That should provide enough time to pack and be ready for the 7:00 a.m. ride.

Well, wouldn’t you know it?  The bed was uncomfortable.  I scrunched up and made sure the pillow was big enough and sitting just right under my neck.

Then I had to turn over, and do the same thing again.

“Wait” I though.  “It’s too noisy in here.  Damn it.”  I forgot to wear my ear plugs.  (Have to keep the window open because the apartment is too warm.  This allows some fresh air in.  The street noises all gang up and saunter in that same window and set up a party in my room.)

I threw the covers off, and went looking for the ear plugs.  Ew.  I had used those ones too often.  Seemed like a good idea to get some new ones.  So off I went into the kitchen and found a fresh pair.

“There” I thought.  “Much better.”  And once again I situated myself under the sheets.

I thought about the next day, about meeting my new boss, and what I would tell him.  I wondered if he would understand some of the pressures our virtual team would face, and what I could do or say to help him understand.  I played around with different approaches, imagined his reactions, thought about how others would factor in, and what new ideas they would bring.  And….

“DAMN IT”  I threw the covers off.  It was hopeless.  I wandered out to the living room and started to watch the last half of Desperate Housewives.  (What?  Are you kidding me?  It’s got Teri Hatcher and Eva Longoria Parker – two of the hottest babes on TV these days.  Not to mention Julie Benz, of Dexter fame, who recently joined the cast.)

I shut the TV off and went to my bedroom, a little sleepier than before.  Then I got on the computer, made sure all the comments on my blogs were answered, then checked MySpace and Facebook to make sure everything was answered there too.  And then checked out all the MySpace blogs to make sure I read and commented on them.

Finally, at 2:30 I fell back into bed.

Today I’m dragging.   Clearly, normal human hours aren’t for me.  A rock star’s schedule seems more fitting.

May have to do something about that.

Oh, and P.S. – if you have an ADD thing and you’ve had no sleep at all I can tell you that the very worst thing in the world is to get a seat on an airplane right next to a wide-awake guy with apparent ADD.  He showed all the symptoms and none of the restraint:  his leg wouldn’t stop jumping up and down and oh dear Lord he was LOUD.   Like ALL THE TIME.  He had no filter either – whatever he thought about came out his wide open mouth.    So there was no sleep on the plane either.

I blame myself.