Boston Bungle: Why I Hate Leaving My House

For my friend’s birthday, we decided to do something different for a change and go to Boston for a night out. It went poorly. The journey in was a nighmare, but I thought it was just a momentary road block. Turns out, it was just the first thing to go wrong.

The Game Plan

We had a decent game plan: my friend Caleb and I would drive into the city early, get a parking spot that was affordable (not easy to do in Boston on a Friday night), and wait for my other friend Sherman to take the train to North Station. Easy peasy right? Wrong.

To The City

After arriving at Caleb’s house, we begin our trek into the city. Since Caleb used to drive into the city every day for work, he drives in, since I’m a very bad city driver, and would like to survive the night. It turns out this would be one of the better choices I made that night. Driving into the city on a Friday is one thing, but it was also Halloweekend, and there was a Celtics game that night, so we couldn’tve had worse timing. Cars littered the Mass Pike like some post-apocalyptic wasteland, none of them moving for minutes at a time. Wonderful. 20 minutes later, we were finally in Boston. Our next challenge was dealing with Boston drivers, who are a whole different species than regular drivers. Our welcome into the city was performed by a Silver Honda who had blocked both lanes.

A regular day in Boston

Now, I’m pretty tolerant of stupid people, but this guy was too much, not only did he block both lanes, preventing anyone else from passing, but it turned out he was waiting to pick someone up. After almost getting hit by 3 additional morons, we arrive to the parking garage had in mind. I knew the night had taken a turn when I saw the two worst words you can see on a parking garage: “Lot Full” Great, now we have to find another one that’s not too far away, and isn’t going to scalp my wallet. After driving a additional 10 minutes around the Seaport, we got lucky: a lot for only 7 dollars an hour, an oasis in a sea of 50 dollar parking. I get my ticket, and put it straight in my wallet as I always do. Thank God I did.

Finding Sherman

Now for the fun part: finding one person in a sea of thousands leaving the TD Garden after a Celtics win.

Imagine 3,000 of these people, but drunker

After walking a mile and a half in the blistering Boston wind, Caleb and I arrive at the Garden. We looked for Sherman for around 10 minutes before calling him, apparently he was waiting on the other side of the street, which explains why we couldn’t find him. We eventually pick him out of a crowd of drunk basketball fans who were singing a barely-recognizable version of Don’t Stop Believing. After finally meeting up, we decide to nix our plan and go straight for the nearest bar that didn’t look crazy packed.

Bar Experience

Now, I’m not a big “crowds” guy, so I usually avoid crowded bars and places where I have to yell to talk, but I’m trying to get out and be more outgoing and such, so I thought it would be good for me to go to a more populated place. Within 45 seconds of arriving, I reconsidered my decision. The bar that had looked so empty and quiet on the outside was actually packed to the rafters with Finance bros in their Brooks Brothers suits and Patagonia vests. The only upside of this location was how quickly I was served a beer, the bartender was on top of her game, and I appreciated how quickly I had a beer in my hand. After learning that thevbar had a second floor, we mosey on over, taking an elevator up. I’d never drank beer in an elevator before, it was pretty cool. After reaching the second floor, we see that while it is less packed than downstairs, this part of the bar is still overpopulated with Patagonias. Surprisingly, we find a table and sit down. As I sip my overpriced beer, I start to be immersed in the conversations around me, none of them very interesting, most about basketball, the rest about how much working in Finance rocks, and how laid they’re going to get. Way to break stereotypes there guys. We finish our drinks and decide not to stay at this expensive post-graduation frat house. As we leave, Caleb suggests we stop at Pizzeria Regina, an amazing pizza place that’s open until the wee hours of the night. It’s half a mile away.

Rejuvenation at Regina’s

As we walk to Regina’s, I notice that we are very far away from our parking lot, and that we have quite a trek ahead of us on our way back. That didn’t matter, I was fixated on having a couple slices of amazing pizza and a beer or two, everything else was unimportant at the time. Just as we’re starting to have second thoughts, we see it: the giant neon sign for Regina.

Hello, you beautiful bastard

We made it. After a brief wait, the server seats us and takes our order. Now, my pizza taste is a little odd, I’ve been in this pesto sauce mood lately, so I’ve been experimenting with different toppings. Tonight, I ordered a bacon pizza with pesto sauce. 5 minutes later, the server comes back with a chicken and pesto pizza, which isn’t a problem for me, but our server felt so bad that she offered to put extra bacon on it for no extra charge. How nice of her. After another couple minutes, she drops off this monster of a pizza with more toppings than cheese, and we all dig in like it’s our last meal on Earth. After we finish our beers and pizza, we begin the long walk back to the parking lot.

Finding the Car

By this point, it’s 12:30, and I’m starting to get tired, but we have a 3 mile hike before I can sit down and relax, so I figured the only way through it is to do it. We made it about a mile before I realize that the address on the parking ticket is for the wrong garage, and we’d been walking in the wrong direction for 20 minutes. Shit. Usually, every parking ticket I’ve ever gotten has the address and name of the garage, making it easy to find where you parked. Not this one. After having a mini panic attack at the thought of losing my car in Boston at 1 in the morning, my mind starts working. I check the GPS tracking app on my phone to see where we had stopped, and after double-checking with Google that it was indeed the place, we resume our journey. Around 30 minutes later, we arrive at where my GPS says my car is. There’s just one problem: it’s not the right lot. Now I really start freaking out, Caleb’s got work at 730, I’ve got to come in early myself, it’s going to be at least an hour and a half before I get home, and I can’t find my car. Things are looking bleak. After pacing around the area thinking of a plan, I see it, the most beautiful sight I’d seen all night: my car. After letting out a scream of joy, we rush over to the car, pay the 18 dollars for our parking, and get the Hell out of Boston. It’s 1:30.

The Journey Home

Now, I’d say Caleb drove like a bat out of Hell, but that wouldn’t accurately describe how fast this man left the city. I’d liken it to how a husband drives his wife to the hospital when she’s in labor. What’s usually a 45 minute drive took us 32, which I was thankful for. As we near Sherman’s car, Caleb starts looking tired, and his driving skills start to suffer. Seeing ad he had to get up in 4 hours, I decide to take over and let him rest a bit. As I sped home, I thought about how we’d laugh at how terrible this night was later. When I finally arrived back at my house, it was 3:15am. I set my alarm clock for 8:30, cringing when I saw how much time I had before I had to wake up.

I could’ve stayed home, watched Mad Men, and been asleep by 11:30. This is why I don’t like to leave my house.

Dumbasses at Dunkin: Part One

So, it’s super rainy and slow today, so I’ve got some time on my hands, and I know how many people enjoy my Dunkin disasters, so I figured I’d write another one while still at work.

Right out of the gate, we lost power, which, in addition to killing my tunes, killed the walk-in and our Point of Sale system. Fantastic. I called my district manager, and she came in to see what she could do, because apparantly resetting the router didn’t work. When she arrived, she asked what I had done, as if I had somehow killed the power myself. She then proceeded to reset the router, and when that didn’t work, she called my manager and yelled at her. Apparently she should’ve predicted that we’d lose power. After the yelling was complete, the district manager decided the best course of action was to hit buttons until something changed. After around 20 minutes of this madness, she had run out of ideas, and left.

Now, I figured that this would be my excitement for the day, but I was wrong. So, if you’ve read my other posts, you’ll know that my Dunkin is attached to a gas station, and this is the source of much confusion, as people apparently can’t figure out why a coffee shop doesn’t sell gas. After informing a group of people that I couldn’t pump their gas, I look outside and I see it; a man trying to light a cigarette while pumping gas. Usually, I would let nature take its course, but I really didn’t want to have to clean up after he met his fiery demise. Luckily, a large construction worker beat me to it, smacking the cigarette out of his mouth and asking him “The fuck’s wrong with you? You tryna blow us all up?” Well put, Construction Guy.

It’s around 2:30 now, and things are still slow. A customer comes in and asks for a bagel, no big deal, but after I give him said bagel, he remains at the counter. Apparently, he has an issue being given a bag for his bagel. After looking at him for a second, I ask why he’s got a problem. He responds with a rant about how we could be recycling the bags, and using the bags more than once. Now, I do my best to recycle and go green and all that, but I’m not about to reuse bags that have had food in them. After informing the gentleman of our food safety guidelines, he stares at me for a second, and laughs to himself like he can’t comprehend how someone could think he was wrong. As he walks out, the girl behind him barely contains a laugh, confirming that I’m not just an asshole.

I thought that my fun was over for the day, but I was wrong again. Our bathroom is a bit of a wildcard: some days it works,some days it doesn’t flush, and some days it pushes water up. Today was a “push water up” type of day. Usually, people are understanding when I tell them that the bathroom’s broken, but every once in a while, we have some issues. Today, I was accosted by a woman who apparently decided that the water leaking out from under the bathroom door was insufficient evidence that it was broken. She then demanded to use the “employee bathroom” because apparently we have one, which is news to me. After informing her that I have been using a spot behind the dumpster, she flew into a rage, and demanded that we give her access to the broken bathroom. Seeing as this woman looks like she doesn’t have the healthiest diet and would further agitate the plumbing, I directed her to my spot behind the dumpster. As she stormed out, the woman informed us she would be leaving us a bad review on Yelp.

Other than that, my day has been pretty quiet, the network is down, so my workload has been cut in half for the day, leaving me ample time to make fun of morons who can’t behave in public. Hopefully, I’m not here much longer, these people are starting to get to me.

The Pharmaceutical Paradox

If you have ADHD, you may have had the same problem I had today: I’m out of Adderall, and need to get more. I need to call the doctor’s office, drive over there, wait for my prescription to be ready, drive back to a pharmacy, and wait until it’s filled. This is a lot of steps for someone who can’t really focus or do anything without their meds. There are so many steps that need to be done in order for me to get the thing that helps me focus. Instead, I got distracted and didn’t do any of them.

I knew I was in trouble when I had the random urge to play Civilization 5. If you’ve ever played before, you know that it’s a great way to accidentally spend 6 hours. Civilization, if you haven’t played it, is a turn-based strategy game where you build a civilization, grow it, and try to take over other civilizations. I at least tried to be responsible: I set an alarm for 45 minutes so I could go over and get my meds, but disaster struck with 15 minutes to go. In the game, you have opportunities to build famous landmarks, and I had almost completed the Sistine Chapel, only to have it snatched away from me by the Aztecs. All semblance of responsibility and time-management went out the window, and I devoted the next 4 hours to destroying their civilization and burning their cities to the ground. It was glorious, but it also ate up my chance to get my prescription filled.

There should be an auto-refill option for people with ADHD, so I can pillage Aztec cities with impunity, and not have worry that I might get distracted or forget to do something.

Another Day at Dunks

If you’ve read my blog before, you’ll know that I work at a gas station Dunkin Donuts, A.K.A Hell on Earth. I don’t say this lightly, but I’d rather wait at the RMV for 8 hours than go to work. It’s been an eventful day, so I figured I’d share it.

Immediately upon arrival, I could tell that it’s been a day. The thousand-yard stares from my co-workers told me that I was for a treat today. The store itself looked like it had been bombed, robbed, and abandoned for years, so I spent the first hour and a half making the store look presentable.

My first troublesome customer came in a whopping 45 minutes after I arrived, a new record. He came in lumbering over to my side of the store, incoherently hollering his order for God and the whole store to hear. As he came closer to the counter, I got a whiff of cheap whiskey and Marlboro Reds, the offical scent of assholes. I tried to make small talk with this man while his food cooked, and initially he had no interest, but after he got his food, he became a Chatty Kathy, talking about his asshole boss, his incompetent co-workers, and the Indian guy who owns the gas station across from me. He did not have nice, wholesome things to say about him. Now, the Indian guy, (who normally goes by “Raj”) is usually a gaping prolapsed anus, but in this case, he had a point. The customer was upset about the price of a Gatorade, which is a stupid thing to argue about, and decided to take out his frustration on an unsuspecting Dunkin Donuts employee. After nodding and smiling along as this man ranted and raved, I thank my lucky stars that I’m not as much of a trainwreck as that guy.

After the interesting afternoon, the day started to stagnate, so I turn on some tasty jams ( I’ve been getting into Jack Johnson lately) and begin to prep food for tomorrow. I get about halfway done when one of my regulars came in: a truly delightful nurse who always tips well and calls me “munchkin”. This is a much-needed recharge, as she always makes sure I’ve been drinking water and that I’ve had lunch. I try to hook her up as much as I can, because the world needs more people like her.

My day continued uneventfully until 4pm: which is usually the dinner bell for the crazies. The first one I got is the rarest type of crazy: the nice crazy. She came in, and from the look on her face, she’d either been doing Ecstasy all day, or she was on enough medication that the world seemed like a giant Wes Anderson movie. She came up to the counter, and ordered a small coffee with 18 creams, 6 sugars, and extra ice, which leaves maybe 4 sips of actual coffee. She got her coffee, took a sip, and then proceeded to sing about how she got her coffee.

The next customer that came in is an old woman who didn’t speak English, so now I had to play 20 questions to figure out what she wanted. After about 3 minutes of pointing to items on the menu, I make out one word “Decaf” which narrowed things down a bit. As I tried to figure out how this woman wanted her coffee, another regular showed up. This particular regular is another one of my favorites because he’s always stoned to the gills, to the level where he looks like the stony hippy from Half-Baked. He stood behind this woman with a look of glee on his face, knowing that he is only moments away from enjoying a sugary treat. The longer it takes for this woman to order her coffee, the more this wonderful hippy will begin to question his decision, so I know that I needed to speed the process up. After finally figuring out what this woman wanted, ol’ Smokey came to the counter. With a barely-contained smile, he ordered 3 donuts, and you would’ve thought Jesus Christ himself had made them the way he looked after he got them.

Remember how I said Raj was a gaping anal fissure? Well, here’s some proof; a woman’s car broke down at our store, which is located off a major road, and he wanted her to leave because she didn’t want to buy anything. She came in looking to use a phone, because her’s was dead, and he started yelling for her to leave. As you can probably guess, this woman’s car wasn’t really going anywhere, so Raj called a towtruck and towed her car away, with her yelling and pleading for him to just let her use a phone.

My day winded down with the usual hectic race to close, and looking back, today was better than yesterday, but let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Coffeeshop Thoughts Vol. 1

It’s been a boring day today, and I’ve had some writer’s block lately, so I figured I’d just do a little brain-dump to pass the time.

Why Are People Dicks?

I’ve never understood what makes someone absolutely lose their shit in public, is it a common occurence for them? Do they have to deal with any consequences? How do they deal with actual problems in their lives? Furthermore, do these people have friends who put up with their shit, or are they alone in the world, and lashing out is how they cope? I know I’m an asshole because I want what I want, how I want it, and I’ll only compromise if there’s no other option. I also use humor as a coping mechanism, so when I poke fun at people, it’s usually because I feel shitty, and casually joking around makes me feel better.

Are the Patriots Going to Win the Super Bowl?

Yes. C’mon, of course they are, that team is more stacked than the entire Victoria’s Secret fashion show combined. I just want to see how many touchdowns Brady throws to the receiver core.

What the Fuck Do I Do Now?

I’ve just gotten my associate’s degree, AKA the GED of college degrees, and when I look at job postings, I don’t see anything that an associate’s degree is used for, making me think I’ve wasted my time, and should go back for my Bachelor’s degree. It took me a super long time to get my associate’s, and I had a 3.2 GPA, so I figure 4 year college can’t be too different. I’m just hoping that I can find something different so I never have to serve old people coffee again.

What Will the Next Stupid Social Media Fad?

I’m thinking it’ll be something regarding the election, something like “Election Day Challenge” or “Show Your Sticker Saturday”, something to get 18 year-olds to the polls. This is an important election, and I’m sure all of the candidates understand how social media can effect the outcome.

The Poisonous Pursuit of Perfection

“Nobody’s perfect” is such bullshit. I know quite a few people who are perfect; perfect jobs, perfect relationships, perfect bodies, perfect lives. The thing I don’t see is how achieving perfection affects them. I’m a perfectionist, I don’t like putting things out that haven’t lived up to my colossal standards, and that holds me back greatly, and I assume it’s the same for those people. My problem is that if something isn’t “perfect”, I’ll pick it apart until it’s completely different from what I started with. Then I start to think “You fucked it up, run it again.” That starts a cycle of edits and self-doubt that lasts until I either get angry and quit, or create something I think is great.

Perfection is such a shit concept. The idea that something can be so good that nothing can change it for the better is such a toxic idea. I’ve had nights where I couldn’t sleep because I had a test a week later, and I knew I could be studying, which lead to me doubting myself, which fucked my head up enough so that when I don’t do as well as I think I should, I think that it’s because I’m not as smart and talented as people think, and not because I didn’t sleep for 2 days before the test.

Long-term perfection is hard. Do you know how often I mess things up? Literally every single day. Those “perfect” people have to be the same way. There have to be Buddhist monks, who have devoted their lives to being self-actualized, who have probably cut someone off in traffic. Elon Musk must have loudly farted in front of potential investors, unless my theory is correct, and he’s an actual cyborg. Those compounding failures form a fog of war that clouds my judgement, making me doubt things that should be no-brainers. The pressure for me to do better is always there, always biting at my heels, always telling me I suck, and it’s pretty fucking annoying.

I think perfectionists are driven by pressure. I certainly am. It’s wild, I’ll procrastinate for days on a writing assignment because I really like writing and want to do well, but I don’t think that my ideas can live up to the expectations I have in my head. This leads me to fart out some half-assed word salad, that actually does well. You’d think that this would make me happy, but usually all I think is “Wow, this person took it easy on me.” Which leads me to think that people are just telling me that I’m smart because they care about me and want me to feel good, and that I’m actually too stupid to see that I’m not talented. I’ve got crazy high expectations for everyone in my life, especially myself, and I get let down when they don’t meet those standards. My brain telling me that I’m terrible keeps me motivated, as bad as that sounds, and I’m sure it’s responsible for a decent amount of good things, but it has absolutely ruined so many others.

I don’t know how to change, I don’t know how to stop being hard on myself, and I’m worried that if I do, I won’t be able to do the things I’ve always wanted to do. If you’ve read my other articles, you know I have ADHD, and I’m sure that it has a part to play in why I am the way I am. I don’t know if I’m really smart, or if people are just too polite to tell me to my face that I’m a moron. If you’ve dealt with the same thing, please comment on what you did, I’m sure that someone else can use the same advice.

Directional Politics is Stupid, And So Are You

I really don’t care if you’re left, right, center, diagonal, or fucking horizontal. You’re still a moron. Unless you’ve got a Political Science degree, and have worked in politics, you don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’re wasting valuable oxygen regurgitating half-remembered facts from http://www.I’mRight.com. Fuck off, you’re just as dumb as the rest of us, you just don’t know it. I’m sick of all these uninformed dipshits who get their entire worldview from Fox News and think that Trump is the second coming of Jesus. He’s not. God’s not real, and the fact that I haven’t been smited by Holy Lighting yet means that either he’s not real, or he agrees with me. Donald Trump is a moron, anyone with two braincells to rub together knows it, but let’s break it down.

Leftists aren’t any better. Can’t you people get along? What is your problem, why do you have to attack everyone you don’t think is as “woke” as you? Shouldn’t you be uniting as a group instead of picking off people who kind of agree with you, but who don’t force politics into every conversation? You people need to shape up too. What, you think because you’re against Trump, you need to be against everyone else? Go fuck yourselves, you pretentious cock-goblins. I used to believe in you, I want all people to be happy and healthy and free, but if that means I have to cancel Dave Chappelle because he made a joke someone didn’t like, I’m gonna tell you to fuck off and gain a sense of humor. I get most of your views, but the sheer amount of Social Justice Warriors on Twitter getting offended over jokes makes me think that you’re all so miserable that you need to make everyone else as miserable as you so you can feel included. Shut up, get some therapy, and pour yourself a drink you uptight assholes. The worst part about the Left is how you are all such unbearable dicks. Your worldview is based off of taking things people smarter than you that you agree with say out of context to prove you’re right. Do your own research, go outside, and shut the fuck up.

Don’t think I’m done with you, Righties. You’re the reason I feel uncomfortable to vote Republican. You’ve ruined the brand, and now I have to pick one of these uppity dick-lickers who are going to spend all my tax money on stupid things that don’t work. Every time one of you goes on TV, I feel my brain starting to hurt as you fumble to explain how the government is going to take your guns, even though that’s never been a thing. Wake up people, politicians found a way to weaponize your fear and stupidity and laziness and turn it into Republican votes. Every moron I know with an understanding of economics gained from selling weed and watching Wolf of Wall Street can be swayed by propoganda disguised as memes, or by listening to media sources made to make you think you’re smarter than everyone. As I’ve said previously, you’re not, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner people will stop calling you an unbearable douche. I’ve never seen stupidity like I’ve seen on the Breitbart comment section, it’s like entire communities didn’t bully the stupid out of racist morons unfit to pour my coffee in the morning. If you think Climate Change is a hoax made up by the Chinese to destabilize our economy: get a vasectomy, you are too stupid to be allowed to reproduce.

We didn’t used to be like this, so I have total faith that we can change. It won’t be easy, it won’t be quick, and it will cost us greatly. If we’re to move on from this colossal fuck-up, we’re going to need to forgive each other. It’s going to suck, no one wants to admit they were mislead, that they were wrong, that they aren’t as smart as they thought. The alternative is total destruction on a scale not seen since the Roman Empire. “America isn’t the greatest country in the world anymore. But it can be.” Jeff Daniels was right, we’ve lost our way, but I can’t give up on the people of this country, even though I really have no interest in talking to 95% of you. We need an event that brings us together, I’m not talking about a mass shooting, or a terrorist attack, or a speech on TV. I’m talking about something that shocks us to our very core, something that the 24-hour news cycle can’t hide. I don’t know what that event could be, but I know that if we keep going down this path, we will alienate the people we share our country with, and that is fucking unacceptable. I don’t care about your politics, one of my best friends is a huge Trump supporter because he likes how he talks shit on Twitter. He’s not a racist, he’s not a billionaire looking for a tax cut, he’s just an uninformed consumer looking for more content, regardless of the real-world consequences. We need something to reunite us, we need something to be As American As Apple Pie again, we need Pam Anderson’s tits bouncing on Baywatch, because if there’s one thing that everyone can agree with, it’s that boobs are awesome.

Why You’re Miserable

I’ve been fascinated with unhappiness for years, I’ve always wondered what is it about ourselves that makes us miserable, and I think I’ve figured it out. People are miserable because they expect too much out of themselves. Think about it: you probably think you are some underrated genius who won’t be understood in your time, or you think that every idea you have is amazing, or you think that even though you can’t seem to come out on top, you’re a winner.

It’s not your fault. It’s really not. You’re doing your best, and that’s all you can ask for. If you’re anything like me, you spend too much of your time thinking about why you’re not happy. Social media has ruined this country, it’s the rotten core of humanity that has gained exposure. Facebook hasn’t made us awful, we’ve always been selfish, egotistical assholes who want attention at all times. I’ve noticed a lot more people who think that being happy means people think you’re happy, and I think that’s wild.

It’s not just you, it’s everyone else too. As a lowly, minimum-wage customer service professional, I see the general public more than the average person, and I’ve noticed they’re getting worse. If I had a dollar for every person who was rude to me, or who took money out of my tip jar to keep from breaking a bill, I wouldn’t have to work anymore. People are fickle, they jump on any excuse to be shitty, because our society doesn’t allow us to truly embrace our shittiness. Society ostracizes anyone who upsets the balance of things, and angry assholes yelling at people are the way we reset. Every angry douche at work has their reasons for being a douche, you can’t blame them, so just feel bad for them and move on.

That’s another thing that’s making us miserable: work. An average of 53% of Americans hate their jobs, and if you spend 40 hours a week hating something, you’re gonna have a bad time. So many people only got their job out of fear; fear that they wouldn’t have enough money to live the way they want, fear that they won’t be respected by their friends and family, fear that they’ve wasted their lives doing something they hate. I understand that, I’m afraid that I’m not good enough to do what I want, I understand that, I’m afraid that I’ve wasted my time, that I could’ve spent my time developing a different set of skills. You’ll never find an answer, so why bother?

Anger is useful, don’t let anyone tell you differently. It’s the single-most reusable resource. I’ve never run out of anger, and when used properly, anger can change the world for the better. Look at the Civil Rights Movement: people got so angry that they actually sacrificed everything to achieve their goals. Imagine what you could do if similarly motivated.

People need to learn ways to healthily release that natural anger, or it’ll become misery. If you bottle up all your resentments, all your failures, all your mis-steps, you’ll end up locked in the bathroom with a gun in your mouth. This is why I think we need to have mandatory mental health screenings in schools, to erase the stigma of therapy, and to stop the spree of school shootings and road rage incidents. I think therapy should be a lot easier to get, so many people in this country could use an impartial third-party that can guide them through the hard parts of life.

My Rocky Relationship With ADHD

I’ve heard ADHD described many different ways, but this is my favorite: my brain is a Bugatti with tricycle breaks. It’s scarily accurate, my mind goes a million miles a minute, but the second I’m forced to switch gears, the whole thing collapses. ADHD is a huuge pain in the dick, but it’s also a goddamn superpower. On the one hand, I spent 8 hours making spec banner ads for the Economist, and they were (for the most part) pretty good. There’s always that other hand though, the one where I forget to hand in the homework I spent all night working on, the one where I’m 10 minutes late to everything, the one where I forget to eat all day. Well, you win some, you lose some.

My battle with ADHD, and it is a battle, started when I was in 3rd grade, at the ripe age of 9. This was before doctors started handing out Adderal prescriptions like Oprah hands out cars on Christmas, so I had to go to Children’s Hospital in Boston, undergo 3 hours of testing to make sure I wasn’t just stupid. After being told that I absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, had ADHD, things started to improve a little. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you’re prescribed medicinal amphetamines. From that point on, I knew my battle with ADHD would be trench-fucking-warfare, but Adderal would be the tank that stormed the front lines.

ADHD’s a fickle mistress, but she does let you fuck her sometimes. My brain doesn’t work right, so I think of things normal people don’t, and while most of those things are ridiculously stupid and should never be spoken out loud, some of those ideas are brilliant. ADHD has also made it possible for me to consume vast amounts of information in a short period of time. This is generally called “hyper-focus”: a fun little mental quirk that is responsible for railroading whatever gets in it’s way. Hyper-focus is why ADHD is a superpower. I once procrastinated for an entire semester of English, and ended up having to write 16 papers in one day, which I did. Not a single one got less than a B. Superpower.

The problem with having superpowers is you eventually have to fight super villains. My brain, while being an almost-endless source of entertainment, is also a jumbled mess of words and memories. Trying to pick a certain memory or idea out is kind of like Googling a generic word, and trying to find a specific article that uses it once. In addition to my memory problems, I struggle to listen to people sometimes, which makes talking to people very interesting. I’ll be trying to process what the person said, trying to think of a response to that, while trying not to say something stupid, but then I get an idea for a movie that derails the whole train of thought and I’m back to nothing. This has lead me to just say the first thing that comes into my head which, 90% of the time, is not something related to the original topic. On top of that whole basket of fun, I don’t take criticism as well as I could, not because I care what other people think, but because I’ll take that criticism and look at it objectively and overthink the problem until it either goes away, or gets much worse. In the end, I don’t have any choice but to learn as much about ADHD as I can, and to be the best me I can be.

If you get to this part: thank you. Another fun side effect is the inability to control my rambling, and failure to stick to one central point. If this resonated with you, you probably either read the whole thing in 2 minutes, skipped to the end to see what was there, or just completely skimmed it and have no idea what was said. I’ve done all three, there’s no shame in it, do what you can. You’ll be fine, just keep doing what you’re doing and try to be better today than yesterday. You’ll be OK.