I can't study anymore. I think I've got acquired-adult-onset ADHD. That is, AAOADHD. I just pronounced that out loud and audibly giggled. At work. Yes, folks - it's sealed. I'm a victim of AAOADHD.
Take last night, for example. My wife and I have papers due on Friday, and my wife had thoughtfully scheduled a couple hours where my in-laws would take the little guy so we could write our papers.
She finished in LITERALLY FIFTEEN MINUTES. Please allow me to reiterate that. She wrote three pages single spaced about the inter-workings of a Canadian firm's ENTIRE IT department in less time than it takes to play one round of Pictionary. I went to make a cup of coffee and she had finished it before it started along its journey to percolation. Fifteen effing minutes.
She then picked up the paper, put her feet up, and began reading the paper. Just to be a punk. Look, wife, no one reads the paper anymore. You're not fooling anyone. You purchased this newspaper with the explicit purpose of rubbing in my face the fact that you are studious. I think I'll buy you a monocle and a train ticket for your birthday. So you can be all studious and judgy somewhere else. While...seeing things...with only one eye. Whatever, psh.
In the fifteen minutes that it took her to write her paper, I was catching up on twitter. I can't read it, or even participate effectively at work, because I'm using a phone from the 1870's, and the touch screen is prohibitively stupid. When she told me she was done, I was lost in thought - thinking about how awesome it was that Eratosthenes used stadia to calculate the circumference of the Earth. Seriously, look up the story. It's fascinating.
But when she told me, I was so shocked and devastated that I literally fell onto the floor and crawled around writhing dramatically. And I'm using "literally" correctly here.
And just this morning, while I've been trying to write one goddamn post for today, I've actually written three. One that was a stream of consciousness in the style of James Joyce's Ulysses. But then I googled Ulysses, and started reading about its critical reception, and then I got into Irish literature and Oscar Wilde, and then Gay Pride, and Old Navy, and before I knew it, I had only three or four sentences written and I was bored with the idea of a stream of consciousness.
Then I wrote one of those six word stories but was supremely unhappy with it. Especially when I took into account that I spent nearly 45 minutes thinking of six...stupid...words.
And then, in frustration, I decided I was diseased. With AAOADHD.
I just said it aloud again. And laughed.
Someone please help.