Does the peg, regardless of shape, ever fit?

Is this the perpetual dilemma of the ADHDer? Do we ever "fit"? Do we ever find a perfect place for ourselves in our world?

For years, I avoided having to fit myself anywhere, by simply keeping my options open. More recently, I have made targeted, calculated choices based on conscientiously selected criteria...and I still end up dissatisfied. I know that life can't ever be perfect. I would just like to be one of those people...one of those people who talk about how their home life is really "satisfying" to them, about how their job is really "fulfilling" and makes them "happy". About how their network of family and friends is the best a person could ever hope for...actually I DO feel like that a lot of the time, but because of my perpetual struggle with making time for "relaxation" I don't get all of the free-time with friends and family that I would like. That's not their fault though, they're still great.

Do I rely on a certain sense of dissatistfaction to keep me engaged? Do I require a feeling of unsettlement, in order to feel normal. Is slightly unhappy my default setting? And is it learned or inherent? Am I just a shapeshifting peg with a chronic case of refusal?

Or am I just in a really strange spot in life right now where I just don't feel quite "right" (despite the fact that I'm actually probably mentally healthier than I've ever been) because the pieces around me just aren't quite correct?

I love my family, but it's a fact that my home life is often stressful. My home is very different from what I grew up with...and totally different from anything I ever imagined it might be.

And my job...well it has its plusses but there are chunks of it that are simply not defined. I knew this going into it...but the feeling of moving through that reality is still awkward at times.

I'm usually able to write blog posts that come to a natural and pointed conclusion but today I just don't have it in me...because the nature of the issue is as filmy as an unwashed window.

A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here

Sometimes (frequently, and recently with alarming frequency) I need a virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here. And if you have ADHD, you know that you do too.

A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here can take many forms and can be different depending on the day, situation. A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here is sometimes the difference between good and evil, between keeping your job and telling someone to go piss on themselves, between knowing you're right and telling everyone who will listen, and keeping it to yourself, a sweet secret.

Today's virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here: grooveshark.com. Grooveshark lets you find songs that you love, create playlists that you'll love even more...and you can change those playlists everytime you log in (which is what I prefer) OR you can save playlists for reuse. You can also put headphones on and listen to the same song over and over and over if it's the only thing that's going to get you through the day, without annoying your coworkers.

Today, I can tell you it's the only thing (aside from the methylphenidate that's wearing off and the nortriptyline that makes me waaaay mellower than I was at this time last year) keeping me a) employed b) sane c) sitting at this desk d) from losing my shit as I stick over 200 individual labels on individual envelopes e) interested in maintaining any form of status quo.

I have no comment on whether any of this is beneficial. I can't go there. I just know that it works.

And that Destroyer sounds like Al Stewart, the London Suede, Roxy Music and a tiny elf had a baby. A baby that makes me stuff envelopes faster.

Crafting: shabby chic style...

Last night, instead of letting the kids loose with a pile of dirty, muddy, delicious clay in the kitchen, I brought the whole brick out into the yard.

I set up a folding table in the driveway at the front of the house, where they were riding bikes and scooters around with a friend, so we could all hang out and make pinch pots (something we had been talking about doing all day).

Busted out the clay, made some great pinch pots, and a huge mess. A huge mess that, when we were done, I could simply hose off of the table and the driveway with a big hose!

1) Kids love making pinch pots and there's some really nice air-dry clay options out there that aren't expensive, don't need a kiln for drying, and are "real" clay for kids who have moved beyond the allure of the neon synthetic squishy stuff.

2) Doing it right out in the yard like that on a folding table was pure genius...cleaning that mess up in the kitchen would have been...challenging. And Sonny and I do not need any more challenges in the "keeping things tidy" department...

3) We are having WAY more fun in our yard than our grumpy neighbor is, in his perfectly manicured Stepford-yard. So THERE. But if he wanted to come make a pinch pot with us, I would absolutely welcome him with open arms. That's how we roll.

In just five minutes, five times/day...

...you TOO can have a glorious shabby chic garden!

I actually enjoy weeding, but even I often don't have the time or patience to devote hours to it. My solution: spend about 3-5 minutes weeding, every time I take the wee doggy out to pee. It's easy to remember, I mean the weeds are their own visual cue...the whole crux of the situation is that they don't go away on their own...so I take the pooch out, and while he finds a great spot on the lawn to burn with his urinary juices, I pull a handful or two of weeds.

I began my weeding career with my grandfather, in the summers, as a child...I pulled the weeds, and then, either we fed them to the sheep, or I would transplant the ones I liked to my own "weed garden" area, which I lined with rocks and pebbles and rusted trash bits that I found on the edges on my grandfathers yard (beds springs, gears, etc...).

Now, my Sonny benefits from my love affair with the weed...and so does the dog. And really, so does the grumpy neighbor. He has ME to THANK for the fact that our yard is weed free (though full credit for the actual garden goes to Sonny Rollins, master of the mulch, eradicator of overgrown "wildflowers", and divider of unmanaged hostas).