My AD(H)D Morning

First thing this morning I pajama Panjabi dance along with the Good Morning America cast. I have been up for an hour and somehow everyone got where they needed to be, as is evidenced by flung cereal boxes on the counter. I want to find the sari my husband gave me a few years ago. I have forgotten that Princess Sparkle is upstairs at virtual school. She doesn't catch me busting my moves, thankfully. But Lily the Labradoodle looks at me like this:

My energetic labradoodle studies me as if I am nuts. A picture of me Panjabi dancing would be much more enlightening, but as you may have figured, I am by myself.

I have no clue what I do for the next hour, only what I don't do. I don't make bed or pick up family room. I go to my computer intending purchase the Slumdog Me On Nair dancing song from iTunes. I should walk Lily. Instead I consider a new blog template.

Put on clothes. Ouch. Finally off to grocery store. Man out front is dressed like a giant banana. I wonder if this was his first choice of employment. Somebody has to do it. Wonder what he thinks of being a giant banana. Enter store with extreme difficulty because there are approximately thirty 4-year-olds amassed in the doorway on a field trip. None of them want to move out of the way. I feel like an old nudge, because I've got this grocery cart. And I'm thinking how easy it would be to "help" them out of my path.

Just as I make my way through the munchkins, all that stands between me, and the freedom that will give me a straight shot for the bananas, is a firmly planted lady eating pineapple samples. I'm so suggestible, it's embarrassing. What if the guy out front was dressed as a Moon Pie? Is the woman with the pineapple even shopping? She doesn't have a purse.

Most time in store spent staring at deeply discounted hair products. I choose 10, then put nine back. As planned, I fall victim to well thought out impulse purchases including: artichoke bruschetta spread, mung bean sprouts (because I have deep desire to know what they are), and frozen organic chicken fingers.

Everything moves along nicely, until I reach the butter/spread section. I saw a commercial yesterday that said that 0 % trans fat, doesn't mean 0 %! It only means less than one percent. And apparently, even a drop of the stuff is bad. I read labels and become dizzy. Palm oil is in the product I thought I saw in the commercial. Princess Sparkle says eating it kills orangutans.

I now believe all products in this section must be unhealthy, and evil! Grocery stores are full of bad stuff, so I might as well just grab any one of them. Or all of them! The 4 year olds invade the dairy section from several directions. I grab a product with pretty packaging, put it back, leave with nothing. Last ditch save:I grab fat free cream cheese, which I'm pretty sure everyone in my house hates.

I am very proud I went to the grocery store even though it was 2 hours later than I "scheduled." Now spent in all ways, I consider blowing off Princess Sparkle's afternoon doctor's appointment. With short notice they will charge us anyway. We could just not show up and see what happens. These thoughts make me feel worse. We will go, but I will torture myself with the possibility of bailing until the last minute.

Bed still needs to be made. I have to bake brownies. And fold laundry. Or maybe I shouldn't because I'm going to start that new diet, after lunch - because I have all this new food. I could do the elliptical and watch television. I want to try mung bean sprouts, then probably leave them to grow a cure for cancer in the fridge. Forget the elliptical. I should eat mung beans first. I haven't watched Y & R in 10 years, I should catch up. Just found forgotten organic chicken nuggets. I refreeze, ignoring package directive.

It's noon. This is where I am.


*Until I read Joe's post at Stuff and Nonsense this morning, I was not going to blog today. Then I commented and said I was going to cut and paste it as my blog. I did, plus extra, gratuitous verbage. Imagine schmaltzy pharmaceutical jingles for magic bullets gradually growing louder as (or if) you read the following - the new Viagra series is perfect:

I know the whole adult ADD thing has become a cliche - I'm cool with that. But I personally love my diagnosis -love my therapy, neurofeedback and medication. It's NOT just about popping a pill every morning - it's a lot off effort. I feel marvelous. And marvelous often still feels unfamiliar to me. After 40 some years, I am finally the person I want to be, who does the things I want to do. I can have a distracted, bizarrely absent morning and know why; grasp that it is just a morning, or maybe, day. I know a to-do list will... what? Oh, yeah. Never mind.