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.
Oh yeah! Continue reading