“Where is the list?” the friend asks me.
The friend of course is the pseudo-boyfriend who has demoted me to "friend" status, to which I’ve agreed, even though I remain as attracted to him as ever. I’m still sad over what could have been, but what can I do but focus on the list.
A month ago, the friend said that the easiest way to combat fears of being pink-slipped is by making a list of places to work and by sending out resumes. So I called a career-coaching service, and opened up the CV and pecked away at fatty phrases. But more than a month later, the list sits somewhere in the computer, collecting cyber-mold.
I’m in a rut, ever more forgetful and absent-minded—and wondering how much of this lack of ambition or fear of execution is ADD versus personality.
I remain impatient and impulsive, and continue to get through life by the skin of my teeth. I shop, pay bills, eat, and cook, but only when it comes to my mind. It is never according to a schedule or a time line.
I know I’m being hard on myself. We’re human, imperfections and all. In the world of ADD vs. non-ADD, the non-ADDers seem so perfect, so easily able to manage time and daily responsibilities—and yet who knows what other problems they have? It is the deep thought for the day.
Now, onto the list.
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