Actually, my iPhone is the host. I’m just a parasite.
I have ADD. ::gasp:: I know, I know. You’re shocked! You can hardly believe it! “YOU! ADD!? Well, I never!”
Yes you do. It’s painfully obvious. Just spend ten minutes perusing my archives and it is obvious that my brain can’t hold on to a thought for more than a min—.
I’ve struggled with ADD all my life. I took Ritalin for a while when I was a kid, but I didn’t like it, so I stopped taking it in 6th grade (much to the chagrin of my parents who didn’t figure out that I’d stopped taking it until a year later; but, by then, how could they be pissed? I was doing relatively well without it, emphasis on “relatively.”) My struggle with ADD caused me a great deal of stress for a long time. Imagine living your life never knowing where the fuck anything is. Keys, wallet, sunglasses, passport, driver’s license, debit card: you name it, I’ve lost it. I have about four sets of keys. Currently, I know where one set it is.
For example, this weekend, I had one thing I absolutely had to do; drop off some documents at my office so my secretary could file them. Seems pretty simple right? RONG.
First, I forgot about dropping off the documents altogether. Finally at one a.m. on Sunday night, I remembered: “Aw, crap.” So I found the documents, had the sense to put them in an envelope, grabbed my purse, and drove downtown. I made it safely into the building, rode the elevator upstairs, only to realize that I didn’t have my office keys because of course I didn’t.
So I started rummaging around in my purse for a pen. I didn’t have one, because of course I didn’t. Then, I rummaged around in my purse for lipstick. THAT, I had. I also had a lipstick brush! So I scrawled my secretary’s name in lipstick on the envelope, slipped it under the door, and ran like hell. As my secretary later remarked, “Thank God you had an envelope! It could only be you! How did you even make it through law school?!” (Heh. That’s the exact remark my shrink made when he prescribed Adderall for me six months ago.)
My secretary is right, though. It could only be me. This type of shit seems to happen to me all the time.
I have no idea why I decided to put the documents in an envelope. Usually I just shove junk in my purse and let the chips fall where they may. I mean this literally; I usually have tons of random crap in my purse: potato chips, dental floss, pieces of string, gum that has long fallen out of the wrapper and has little pieces of tobacco stuck to it, a half-eaten bagel wrapped in Saran Wrap.
People mock me for the state of disarray that is my purse. Once, my friend Brett asked me for something—lip balm, I think it was—and as I eagerly exclaimed that I had some, I grabbed my purse and began to dig around it. He was noticeably disturbed, and rightfully so.
You see, searching for crap in my purse is a whole process; I never actually look inside the purse. I just stick one hand in there and start finger-searching for shit. It’s fun and exciting.
“Ew, what’s that? It’s sticky. I don’t want that. I’m just going to keep looking.” (Would it make sense to pull the sticky item out of my purse and then put it in the trash can? Yes. Do I have any sense? No.)
“Ow! Is that a safety pin? That hurt. I’ll just keep looking.“ (Would it make sense to check my hand to make sure I’m not smearing blood all over the contents of my purse? Yes. But remember how I don’t have any sense?)
Anyway, as soon as I started one-handedly rummaging through my purse, Brett sort of rolled his eyes and said, “Please don’t look in there,” as if the very thought of me spending the next fifteen minutes searching aimlessly for a tiny tube of lip balm, which I probably had forgotten in my car anyway was more than he could bear.
I, however, was determined. Convinced that I had what he desperately needed, I dumped my purse on to the floor. You can’t even imagine the little shoppe of horrors that fell out. My friends spent easily a half hour picking up random things and asking me, “Why the fuck do you have this in your purse?” My answer: “Because I might need it!”
Brett picked up one item, looked at me and looked at me with palpable exasperation: “And why do you need this enormous ball of tin foil?“ I didn’t have a sensible response for that one, so I grabbed the ball of tin foil (which was about the size of a tennis ball) and put it back in my purse. Why? Because I might need it!
So… crap… now I’ve forgotten where I was going with this post.
Um..
Oh yeah!
It amazes people how disorganized I am. They can’t help but imagine that if I just got organized, all my problems would be over. No more panic attacks. No more anxiety.
Sorry, it just doesn’t work that way. The way I deal with my ADD is by not giving a fuck. Lost my keys? Oh well. They’ll turn up. Can’t find my iPad? Oh well. I’ll just go buy another one. It’s my lackadaisical attitude towards these things that enables me to maintain what little remaining grip that I have on reality.
I’ve spent too many years wondering what’s wrong with me; why can’t I get my shit together? I once left my wallet at a Target in D.C. and drove all the way to law school (a 2 hour drive) before I realized I’d left my wallet in the damn shopping cart in the parking lot. I freaked out. It was good times.
Now, instead of freaking out, I’ve just come to grips with the fact that I’m not supposed to have my shit together. I’m a scattered mess, that’s how Bieber made me, and I can either learn to love it, or spend the rest of my days fretting about shit that doesn’t matter.
I don’t need to be organized! I just need to have a general idea of where my stuff is. So, I cope the way most people with ADD cope–by making piles.
I’ve got piles of shit all over my house. Instead of putting things away, I put them in baskets. I’ve got nine baskets of varying sizes scattered throughout my house. One basket for power cords, cables, and other electronics-related crap; another basket for my keys, phone, and travel make-up bag; another basket for dog leashes, poop bags, treats; another basket for stacks of mail that I go through once a month, if that–sometimes I’ll just throw it all away without even looking at it; another basket for magazines; another basket beside my bed for my remote, lip balm, and glasses; another basket for jewelry; another basket for shit that just doesn’t belong in any of the other baskets.
At any given time you can find me wandering around my apartment just looking for stuff. Is it in this basket? Nope. Is it here? Nope. And in the middle of look for that something, I realize I really should look for this other thing, and then I forget about the first thing entirely.
Hours later, when I finally sit back down on the couch, it occurs to me: “Oh yeah! I need to find my checkbook!” And then I’m off again on another hunt for red October. (I don’t know what that means, but one should always reference Sean Connery movies if at all possible, and when one does it, one should type in a Scottish accent. Or is he Welsh? Is Pierce Brosnan Welsh? Somebody is definitely Welsh. I should look that up… after I finish this post.)
Each morning I begin the hunt for Shit I Need That Day. The best days are when I find all my shit where it’s supposed to be. This morning, I spent twenty minutes looking for my keys… in the sofa cushions, in all my purses, in the bathroom, only to realize that they were in the key basket where they belonged. I didn’t get mad about the lost twenty minutes though. My shit was where it was supposed to be! It’s a celebration, bitches!
So yeah. This is my life, citizens.
When I got my first iPhone, I figured that all my problems were solved. This little Smartphone was going to help me organize my life. I started filling up my calendar with all sorts of tasks. “Pay cable bill.” (I never do; it pays itself somehow.) “Pay electric bill (I pay it, but usually on the day they are going to turn off my electricity. I have the money! I just don’t give a fuck!) “Buy laundry detergent.” (I bought dish detergent instead.)
Turns out I was going to need more than just an app that would allow me to make a list of Shit to Do; I needed my phone to actively tell me what the fuck to do.
Eventually, I found an app called reQall, and whimsical spelling notwithstanding, I bought it. ReQall is a voice-activated program that texts and emails you your tasks. I can pick up my phone and say “Buy dog food,” and ReQall will translate my voice command into text and then will text message and email me what I said. 
Amazing, right?
Sure… until the whole system breaks down!
Once, as I was driving to Target (which I now boycott because it is an asshat), I grabbed my phone and started whispering sweet nothings to it:
“Buy batteries.”
“Buy soap.”
“You look very handsome today.”
“Buy trash bags.”
The list went on and on (as Target shopping lists are wont to do. You walk in there expecting to spend 30 bucks. You walk out having spent your entire paycheck on shit you don’t need, like a Japanese Water Garden and a pair of men’s flip-flops, size 12.)
I finally pulled into the Target parking lot and looked at my phone. I hadn’t heard the “DING DING!!” which alerts me that I have a new text message. Not wanting to walk into Target without my strategic list of Shit to Buy, I opted to sit in the car and listen to NPR while waiting for my list to magically appear on my phone. And there I sat. Sure, a normal person can walk into Target with a mind-list and get all their shopping done in a hurry. But not me. If I walk into a Target sans list, it’s game over man. My brain will short circuit forcing me to power down.
Finally twenty minutes had passed and still, my phone had not texted me. I was sitting there waiting for my phone to tell me why the hell I was sitting there.
It turns out that there was something wrong with the app. It wasn’t working properly and was holding my shopping list hostage in a microchip somewhere.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself. “I need to get out of this car. I look like a weirdo.” So I got out of the car, walked over to the Target, walked right past it to the liquor store next door, bought myself a nice bottle of single malt scotch and proceeded to drive home.
When I was halfway home, what do I hear? DING DING!! My phone sounded excited: “I’ve got your list! Here it is!”
I ignored it though. Who needs laundry detergent when you have whisky?
Catherine Zeta-Jones is Welsh. She was in a movie with Connery.
Does this count?
i think, in some way, we’re all welsh inside.
(i don’t know what this means.)
OHHHHHHHHHHH MY. so THIS is what it’s like in the mind of gandy! wow. i am fondly reminded of that time that i took your passport from you (concerned, given your obvious state of frazzled disorganization, that you would drop it flat on the airport floor only to have it picked up by some nefarious person and sold to a rhianna-hairdo’d terrorist, which would result in us not being able to promptly enter MEXICO, which would mean i would be delayed at least 2 hours from ignacio serving me my cactus cooler poolside, which would be BAD because let’s face it, it’s all about ME) and said very clearly and slowly to you: “We have already shown this to the gate agent. I’m putting it in the front pocket of your purse here.” Five minutes later, you refused to board the plane because you were frantically rummaging through your purse trying to find the passport, after which you screamed at me (no, really, screamed), “Don’t help me! I’m not a child!!! YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Ah… good times.
hahahaha. i am usually in a state of blind panic when i have to travel. i’ve been known to pull over multiple times to make sure i have my wallet. “i know i just checked, but i have to check again.”
and lord help me, if i don’t have lip balm. if i don’t have lip balm, i have to stop and buy some. IMMEDIATELY.
i’ll let you be the boss of me on future trips.
Sometimes we need practical solutions to problems in addition to global ones. For example, I brew beer (and I’m pretty good at it). And as you can imagine, occasionally after an evening of sampling homebrew, I would hear about the quantity of empty bottles in the sink. So, global solution: cut down on the quantity of beers consumed. Practical solution: switch over to kegging the homebrew so no matter much beer was consumed, there’s only one glass in the sink in the morning…
Anyways, my practical solution to you, buy a smaller purse…
(and if you ever come across those flip-flops, I wear a size 12…)
oh no no no no. a smaller purse? that’s INSANITY. my purse sizes are increasing every year. now i have to have room for my iPad. i have learned to use the little pockets that purses have. they’re actually useful! and i have a little mini purse in my purse where i put all my make up, gum, pens, etc.
i’m evolving! :D
I am all kinds of awesome with ADD people. My roommate in college had (I guess I should say has, seeing as she’s not dead) ADD and she had also adopted the Fuck It attitude. It would take her as long as it took to find shit, no point getting mad.
Here’s the awesome:
Somehow I developed a psychic link with her. She would be all “Where the hell is my-”
And I’d know what she was looking for even before she said it and I’d be all “It’s on the table next to the bed.” “It’s on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.” “It’s in your bra.”
In conclusion, if (when) I move back to CA, I can be your personal Where is My Shit? Finder. If you want.
YES PLEASE. i need that service. I literally just found a set of keys that has been missing for a couple months, and now I don’t remember where I put them.
Oh well.
They’ll turn up.
The only time I get frustrated is when other people are waiting for me and they get frustrated or I’m worried they’re going to get frustrated. Then I get frantic and start to panic and get paranoid that everyone is looking at me wondering what the hell I’m doing.
That’s when I start to yell, as I did at my poor friend mme. marbles up there.
I used to do this for Amanda when we roomed together. She said it was like rooming with a Mom.
Oh well.
Her I.D. is probably still at the foot of her bed, underneath the Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
Crap! I need to pay my utility bills. (Thanks for reminding me) (I know you understood that)
One of the windows in my bedroom has a crack in it. Every day my husband calls me from work to ask me if I called the glass company to come out and fix it. I say I will call as soon as I get off the phone. THEN he makes the mistake of asking me what we want for dinner. Chicken pot pie (I makes it from scratch) and a nice Zinfandel start calling my name. (I ignore that white wine with chicken crap. A nice hearty red Zinfandel pairs well with everything.)
I keep my purse in the car. That way I know it is always there. (It is locked in the garage) I have been known to go to the garage in the middle of the wee hours of the early morning to make sure my purse, and all credit cards, are accounted for. I have to make sure I did not place them on the top of my vehicle, while I was juggling my various purchases, and drove off… leaving them in the middle of a busy intersection for some nice truck driver to retrieve and turn over to the police. (True story)
My bedroom window is still cracked. I keep waiting for the HOA to notice and cite us for it. That way, my husband will feel the urgent need to take care of (remember) it.
tri-b! you’re a god among women. hopefully i’ll see you at the end of the month? we should have some wine! drink it out of the box and everything!
Are you “returning to sanity” the day before Halloween? Please check the appropriate box:
? YES!
? Definitely!
? Fo sho!
? Who’s bringing the wine box(es)?
No is not an option.
You know DC is nice in early middle autumn. Especially when there are funny Jewish New Yorker type guys around… with a little gray around the temples.
tri-b! i bought my plane ticket the day they announced the rally was happening!
i’ll be there! i’ll be there! just call my name, and i’ll be there! like the jackson 5! except there’s one of me. and i’m actually black.
http://tiny.cc/heyo
(too soon?)
It’s time for another momentous hag concurrence! Sanity (in our own liberal definition of the word) will be restored! And the world… will never be the same…if everyone’s really lucky.
Seriously, it’s time for some shits and giggles. (I don’t even know if seriously and shit and giggles belong in the same sentence)
(Psstt… meet me at the Mall)
oh my good grief that was ridiculously funny! i was crying about half way through. i’m married to ADD and when he’s gone i really miss the insanity. woman where are my keys?! good memories…
Oh my god I love you. This is my life. It takes me like, 3 or 4 tries whenever I leave the house because I forget EVERYTHING I need. I go through a weekend without accomplishing anything I needed to. Instead of the thing I was REALLY supposed to do, I’ll have organized my underwear according to style & color. And the rest of my closet will be a disaster, the car still won’t have an updated inspection sticker, and my grandma still won’t have gotten a phone call.
I don’t know if you ever read Allie Brosh (why not? you should!) but if you haven’t, check out her take on ADD. It’s AWESOME. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/01/hi-im-energetic-today.html
i LOVE allie.
“Imagine living your life never knowing where the fuck anything is. Keys, wallet, sunglasses, passport, driver’s license, debit card: you name it, I’ve lost it. I have about four sets of keys. Currently, I know where one set it is.”
I feel your pain. I once lost my car. I worked in the city and my normal spot was blocked off, so I had to park somewhere else. Then I forgot where.
i feel ya! i once spent an hour wandering around underground looking for my car because i forgot where i parked it!
OMG !!!! You need to make a movie of your life !!!!! Too bad Let’s make a Deal is off the air….Monty Hall would have LOVED you !!!
Let’s Make a Deal IS on the air! It’s not too late!
I’m sure Wayne Brady would love you too.
is wayne brady gonna have to choke a bitch?!
Probably. Since, you know, you won’t be able to make up your mind.
zing!
Oh my deity, this is me ALL DAY. I haven’t been formerly diagnosed, but basically I never know where anything is and my life has become a constant adventure in not having what I need when I need it b/c I forgot it. Much like you i’ve learned to accept it as part of who I am and go with the flow. One of the reasons I knew the hubs and I were going to hit if off is that he’s the kind of person that says “Keys, wallet, phone” before he leaves out the door than says, “Honey, do you have your keys, wallet, phone?” Me: “I have my phone.” Then I shuffle back into the house to get the other items with him shaking his head like I’m Marmaduke.
Actually most of my friends can often be found shaking their heads like I’m Marmaduke. I think we give non-ADD people something to do. I’m sure it gives them warm fuzzies that we otherwise intelligent people would not be able to survive without them. It also keeps us from doing weird stuff like recluding.
On the other hand, I find that I actually have better systems for keeping my work organized because I don’t trust myself like others who aren’t afflicted w/ whatever lowgrade form of ADD that I have trust themselves.