I often fantasize of a workplace where ADD and creativity are rewarded. Then maybe the anxiety and depression wouldn't be a problem.
by Jane D.
I wish the ideas would stop. I feel like that kid in dodgeball, who has all of the balls thrown at her at once, and there's no way to fend off the barrage, except to duck. In the end, the ideas are non-existent anyway, because they are, as the father says, simply ideas: illusions, delusions, and not real, because rarely are they executed. How shitty can a person be made to feel? I feel pretty shitty.
Today, as part of the perfect storm, I came up with the idea of a pullout section in the magazine called Dress and Undress the CEO. Heck, it might be good entertainment for the ladies who pick up the magazine. Naked cutouts of men with Ken-doll physiques and cut-out ties, underwear, suspenders, and shoes. If I shared the idea with the editor, she'd think I was insane, or maybe had too much to drink.
I often fantasize about a career where ADD or creativity would be rewarded. Rather, I feel ashamed most of the time, stuffing the ideas away into the dozens of notebooks that are scattered all over the desk at work.
A more immediate problem is the anxiety and depression that comes along with what is already a handicap. Last night, I noticed a new mole under the arm, painful, red, and definitely there after the long 3.5 hour swimming race last weekend. I Googled "sudden mole and skin cancer," freaking myself out. I'm so good at that.
I've been tempted to jack up the Adderall dosage because at times I feel like the medication isn’t working. I have heart and passion and am well intentioned—but I end up angry and impulsive, and put up all of these guards so that people won't see the ADD me.
I think I obliterated yet another one of my first-date men yesterday. He looked at me funny after I'd simply said, "I couldn't even recognize you. You look nothing like you do in your photos," when I first met him. He didn't seem to have a sense of humor and took offense at that. We sat in silence for 30 minutes and then he asked me if I had any questions for him. No, what was this, a job interview? He said I was like the seventh woman he'd met from online dating. I sat there thinking that at least I'd gotten a $15 glass of wine out of this. I knew I'd never hear from him again. Jerk alert.
The only thing that made me feel awesome the other day was that I had a nice chat with the replacement roommate, whose hobby I discovered is carving cakes. I was totally intrigued that she makes cakes shaped like boots, handbags, and animals. It made me realize that I wasn't the only creative soul trapped in a suit and briefcase.