I really do have attention deficit disorder, and I'm submitting it as my entry in the "A" project as well as the "that's another thing that's wrong with me" category. But I really haven't the time to finish it at this moment. Too damned many distractions: load the dishwaser, take a bath - no, take a bath, then load the dishwasher, bag up the rug fragments from our floor project, take down the outdoor Christmas tree and wreath and put them in the basement with the indoor wreath, find the suet container and fill the big feeder with sunflower seeds.
So how in hell can a guy, or a gal (this is a gender neutral zone) supposed to focus enuf with all these agenda items to finish a complicated essay on an infuriating disorder that by its very name tells you that focus alone is difficult, all in one sitting?
Actually, adrenalin (or its synthetic, Ritalin) can aid in the focusing. But I forgot to take my afternoon Ritalin tablet, which is another thing that is wrong with ADD - you forget things.
Where the hell was I? I'll be back to finish this, I promise. Or, I will post a sequel. I haven't thought enuf about that option yet.
It does sound like a hellish affliction, but many artistic types (and we all are artistic types) have it in one or more of the three forms of ADD (not to include the ADHD, which may have another basket of symptoms), which means that maybe I'll get some serious readership here if most if not all of you suspect that you may have the disorder, too.
I wasn't diagnosed until about a dozen years ago after interviewing a 70-year-old multi-millionaire for the paper that employed me. The guy told me he was diagnosed after flipping out under chemo-therapy. He then donated significant funds to local hospitals for state-of-the art therapy machines that used biofeedback to, as Ed told me, "rewire the brain."
He gave me a book to read to prepare me for the interview. Reading the book especially intrigued me, as it seemed to be about me. I told Ed's secretary this while awaiting my audience with him, and she said, "Oh, I have it too."
OK, now for my bath and some chores. Be sure to keep an eye peeled for Part II of this saga, wherein Uncle Wiggly will tell how relieved he was to learn that there was a medical condition to blame for his concentration troubles, his hair-trigger temper, his daydreaming and his poor listening skills.