What are you waiting for?

I suppose you could read that subject line as either figurative or literal. And really, both are important questions. But for the purposes of this prose, I'm referring to the literal. That's because it's currently driving me mad.

A few weeks ago, I learned of a possible new job opportunity that's awesome. However, should it really materialize, it would not happen for at least several months. Do understand that I'm gainfully employed and fairly content, too, although the part of me that's discontent is rabidly so. (And rest assured that I'm quite thankful for what I already have.) But this new thing would pretty much entail exactly what I would want if I could design ADD Libber's Dream Job.

And so, I wait.

The thing is, my ADD brain's wired to want what I want and want it NOW. My brain is that little kid in the restaurant who didn't finish his chicken fingers and, consequently, his parents are withholding his ice cream dessert. And what happens then? He screams and tearily rants about what he perceives as utter injustice, even though he doesn't yet know what injustice means.

Now because behaving like that little kid isn't socially acceptable for an adult, not to mention quite unbecoming, I do something totally different: I obsess. A lot. I'd say it's probably my most avid pastime. It's sometimes therapeutic, but certainly not always. In fact, it goes in stages a bit like this:

1) elation - this is the immediate reaction, which goes along the lines of thinking "this is the best day EVER," and looping it through my head a good 500,000 times.

2) fantasy future - this is probably the most enjoyable part, in which I muse about what it'll be like once the object of my obsession comes true. The future is pretty much shiny and perfect.

3) irrational reality check - after repeating step two for a ridiculously long time, I regain my bearings in the present moment and tell myself to chill out. But instead of getting all zen about stuff, I start looking for what I believe is the irrational notion that said future plan is definitely going to fall through. That's not to say that I totally think negatively about it, but rather, I start to muse about how this fantasy situation might not be what I think it's cracked up to be.

Fortunately, my good pal B. has been an awesome ear throughout this mad thought process of mine. When I conjure up some of the thoughts that fall under step three, I call B. and she provides a rational reality check. B. is patient and rational about these things. And so when I mention that I sure hope that the person who offered me said opportunity doesn't forget that he did, she compels me to examine my nonexistent evidence for such a thought.

The worst part about waiting, though, is that we chew up time in our lives by thinking so much about moments that are far from the present ones. I hate that because that's mental energy best spent on other things. In the meantime, I decided that I need a few personal projects to carry me through this time (because what ADDer doesn't adore brand new projects? Certainly not this one!). I've started a new workout challenge with an online tracker, and I'm also trying to do something fun and a little bit special for myself each day, even if it's just a little lunchtime walk that's not one of my usual routes.

So yes, maybe I have replaced my giant obsession with a couple of smaller ones. But these take place in the present time, moments that require no waiting.

Beer and pudding pops

As I shopped for groceries one evening last week, I excitedly discovered pudding pops in freezer case. For the uninitiated, I'm referring to frozen pudding on a stick for which Bill Cosby once served as a spokesmodel. As a kid, I enjoyed pudding pops perhaps more than any type of frozen treat. It, of course, thrilled me beyond belief to see that they have made a comeback in the 21st century.

But just before I reached into the freezer case to snag a box of pudding pops, I noticed the cost: $4.99 for a box of 12. My hand then retreated from the handle of the freezer case.

I thought to myself that it was crazy to pay that much for pudding pops. I think I figured that they should cost $3, so $4.99 was exorbitant to me. Never mind that I hadn't had a pudding pop since the Reagan adminstration.

Thinking back to earlier in the evening, I realized the irony of my situation. I'd been out with a friend and drank one beer, which cost $4 and a $1 tip. Thus, I paid $5 for an after work beer, which I occasionally have...and never think twice about its cost.

So why did I get all indecisive about buying the pudding pops? Probably because the thing that I wanted very much was staring me in the face and actually having it was too overwhelming to comprehend.

Perhaps you're thinking that I'm a lady of low expectations to have such an emotional reaction to pudding pops, but I'm pretty certain that you do the same thing. There's likely something that you want, but it takes a bit more investment to procure or achieve than you had originally anticipated. It could be a purchase, but it also could be catching up with an old and awesome friend with whom you haven't been in touch with in a few years. Yesterday, in the U.S., it could have been voting for president. Or maybe it's updating your resume. Or learning how to knit. Or, if you've been me over the last couple of months, it could be blogging.

By having ADD, we often excuse ourself for not achieving what we want. I'm not talking about the "shoulds", as my ADD coach would say; that is, things we feel obligated to do. I am referring to the things in life that deep down, you really want. If you're like me and were diagnosed with ADD as an adult, you probably have an impressive track record of things that you started and never finished, as well as the squashed confidence that's a residual effect.

As a result, you take the easy way out or accept a lesser substitute for what you really want. I'll use the previous examples from two paragraphs ago as examples. So, instead of contacting your old friend, you write "hope to catch up soon!" on a holiday card and spend your time listening to the pal (of sorts) who calls when s/he needs an audience for her/his latest drama. Or maybe you decided to drive straight home from work yesterday because you live in one of the bluest states and you were planning to vote for Obama. And why try to get another job when the economy sucks? Or try to knit a sweater when there are plenty available at TJ Maxx? Or, if you're me, assert that you have no time to blog yet plenty to watch "What Not to Wear?"

In my earlier example with the pudding pops, I illogically felt like it didn't make sense to buy a box because the price differed from what I expected it to be. And I almost let this ridiculous notion overrule some other compelling points:

Were they the delicious pudding pops that I remembered from my youth? Totally.

Was I as excited to see them as I am to see the new James Bond movie? Heck yeah.

Did I have any issue with parting with $5 for my postwork beer? Of course not.

How we each spend our money, time, affection, attention, calories, and so forth is our owndecision. Are you using these resources on the people and things that you know will enhance your life and delight you? Or are you squandering them on people/things that fill your time or squander these resources?

With ADD, it's easy to accept second best. We're all used to everything having a higher degree of difficulty than what non-ADDers have to handle. But at the same time, don't use your ADD to justify not setting out to achieve anything that you want in life, small or large. If you do, that makes as much sense as a lady who shivers in the frozen foods aisle for way too many minutes as she grapples with the idea of shelling out an extra $2 for something that will keep her happy for a week.

Don't believe in yesterday.

While parting company with my friends C. (a guy) and P. (a lady) one recent evening, C. wrapped me in a bear hug and proceeded to lift me off the floor. The instant that my feet left the ground, I had the immediate thought that many women unfortunately have: Put me down, please! I had no issue with C. elevating me, but I do have issues about my weight. So I said to C., "Hey, don't do that." To which he replied:

"Why? You're not heavy?"

I shot a look of surprise to P., who concurred with C. by exclaiming, "You're not!"

Well, then!

Several years ago, before I knew both C. and P., I weighed a lot more than I do now. Even though I still have some more weight to lose to reach my goal, my mind is usually still stuck in the days when eating stuff covered with whipped cream served as the antidote to my misery. And whenever I chat with my latest crush, I sometimes think of myself as that awkward eighth grader I once was, complete with giant glasses, braces, and (holy smokes!) leg warmers.

My ADD, and perhaps yours, provides ample examples of other messages in the mind that keep repeating over and over. For me, any time that I'm late for work, procrastinate on responding to an email, arrive 10 minutes late to meet someone, or get a late fee on a bill, I instinctively think of mypre-ADD days when the aforementioned stuff happened pretty regularly. As a result, a litany of negative messages bombard my head. So when I'm late for work, all I can think of is how I yet again failed to get to the office on time. Never mind the fact that I stay late to make up the time and also get my work done. I still make myself feel bad for something that only I judge myself for.

Similarly, I judged my friend C. for the comment that he made. I felt that he said I wasn't heavy only to indulge me. However, C.'s not one to sugarcoat his thoughts and realized that perhaps he was correct. When I saw him a few days later, I mentioned that his comment made me feel good. But just for good insanely neurotic measure, I asked him to confirm that he wasn't just B.S.ing me. C. looked at me with one eyebrow askew and said, "No," in a tone of voice that would have been the same had I asked him to swap Super Bowl tickets for a marathon viewing of Lifetime movies.

This vignette has made me think a lot about how my thoughts often don't reflect who I am now. And how about you? How many of your thought patterns have to do with the you who you used to be? And how come they're still hanging around?

Take that, Tom Cruise!

At lunchtime today, a lady stopped me on the street to hand me a flyer.

"Would you like a personality test?"

Sheesh. I knew what this was all about. She's a frickin' Scientologist. So I cheerily replied:

"I don't think my psychiatrist would think that's a good idea."

In response, she snarked, "I bet he wouldn't!" (Oh snap! The flock must give all of the good lines to Tom.)

As an aside, her sexism appalled me. It's 2008; I'm a woman and the crazy Thetan's a woman. Why on earth would she assume that my psychiatrist is a man? In all fairness, my psychiatrist *is* a man. But still, that's a pretty big assumption! ;-)

Snakes on a Brain

(Note: I realize that many people have extreme fears of reptiles. If this applies to you, please skip this article!)

Last week, I took a little break after making substantial headway on one of my latest tasks at work. The excellent Mark Morford had a new column, so I surfed over to the San Francisco Chronicle’s Web site. As I enjoyed Mark’s latest musings, a title in the “most read” box got my attention:

New threat to our way of life: giant pythons

Wow.

Here’s America’s real threat. Forget the tanking economy, disappearing glaciers, and terrorist cells. Oh yeah, and forget my work. A new cause celebre had commandeered my thought processes, especially with this quote from a government geologist:

"We have not yet identified something that would stop their spreading to the Bay Area."

Did I mention that the giant pythons currently reside in the Everglades? You know, in Florida, diagonally across the country from San Francisco?

Naturally, I’m creeped out by the story. But forget that. The logistics of potential migration of giant pythons to northern California fascinated me. By my underestimation, I spent the next several minutes on my employer’s dime trying to figure out how the giant pythons would get to the Bay Area. Obviously, they wouldn’t take I-10 to the 101 because they can’t drive. And they don’t have identification, so forget about flying. (Plus, it’s been done before.) Amtrak now requires ID, so the train’s out, too.

Or suppose the giant pythons wanted to go it alone. How would they cross the Rockies? They lack the necessary hands, feet, or paws for scaling the mountains.

This story was too important for me to keep it to myself, so I shared it two guys I work with. Not surprisingly, H. made some silly analogy about men being pythons and women being rattlesnakes. Citing a line from the article, I actually agreed with him:

Lifestyle: When young, the pythons spend much of their time in trees. In adulthood, their weight makes tree-climbing too difficult.

Next, I mentioned to S. that perhaps the military could consider drafting the giant pythons as a secret weapon. S. claimed that my idea wouldn’t work because it lacks the element of surprise. To which I remarked:

“You wouldn’t be surprised if a giant python came after you?”

When I went out at lunchtime, I reflected on my question to S. What would I do if confronted by the beasts? First of all, I’d scream like a little girl. And I’d run, of course. But the shoes I was wearing weren’t conducive to escaping from giant pythons. I could perhaps kick off my shoes, then run into a building and take the stairs to the highest floor. That’s the best option I could think of. I’m quite proud of my plan because I’m now prepared for what seems like the inevitable.

Back in the office, all thoughts of giant pythons slithered from my head. A new assignment and an upcoming conference call fortunately brought my focus back to work. I’m lucky that I got in gear so quickly, because on other days, I’d need a giant python chasing me to do some work.