Day 2 – Doing it right(ish)

OK, so I take the pill a bit early today, but that’s probably better than taking it late.

I saw someone (Reddit again – do try out reddit.com/r/ADHD, it’s an unusually kindly subreddit) recommend that people who have trouble getting up in the mornings might try taking their meds half an hour before they need to be out of bed. As I am a terrible abuser of the snooze button, this fits in nicely with my morning routine and so, at 7:00, I delve noisily into my rucksack for the pill bottle (I am very lucky to have such a patient partner, really, I am) and consume the capsule.

And, golly gosh, it works. Well, possibly. Maybe not. I don’t go back to sleep, and the pill can’t have kicked in that quickly, so it’s possible that I am just excited about the idea of it working, and that’s what’s clicked me into alert mode.

Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and I get up half an hour earlier than normal feeling pleased with myself. I have a coffee. That’s probably unnecessary, come to think of it, as I’m told I have been self-medicating with caffeine; but I’m still on a smug high about finally giving up sugar with the damn stuff, so bollocks to it. Can’t do much harm.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that it’s now past 09:00, and I’m writing this when I should be working; although I did put in some extra time early on. Still, not in the spirit of the exercise at all. I’ll pop back later.

Right, it’s lunchtime-ish. Worked from home this morning as J&J are still away, but I’ll be dragging myself up to the ‘office’ in a minute.

Physically, much the same as yesterday afternoon. My resting pulse is in the mid- to high-70s, which is quite a bit faster than my usual mid-60s, so I’ll keep an eye on that.

Mouth still dry, and I’m guzzling water like it’s going out of fashion, which is probably is. I’ve been hearing stylish murmurings about micellar water [quick Google – nope, never mind, that’s for splashing on your face].

Mentally, I still feel pretty good. My tracking app tells me that PMS is due to start tomorrow, which should be a laugh; today, though, I’m level-headed and sprightly, if slightly sore around the tits.

I get a lot done in the morning, although it is perhaps a little harder to stay on-task than it was yesterday – I keep flickering my attention to the to-do list app I have open, which the Boss is keeping updated, and letting my thoughts slide into the tasks ahead, instead of the one in front of me. Still, I catch myself promptly, and shake the distraction off quickly, and as a result I am officially On Track for the day.

I’m still losing myself in time, but because it’s due to being absorbed in productive work, rather than useless flapping about, it’s quite a pleasant sensation.

I have another go on Facebook, because I’m strangely enamoured with this new Pratchett group, and, slightly disappointingly, don’t find myself drawn into another lovingly analytic thought tunnel. Perhaps the worst of the hyper-focus happens when the meds first kick in. Noted.

Ah, it’s past noon. Hi ho, hi ho, etc.

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Reading back what I’ve written over the last couple of days, I still sound like “me”, if slightly more effusive. I’ve not stuck to the usual clipped sentences and minimalist approach to adjectives: partly because I want to remain accurate to my thought process if this is to be at all useful; and partly because, well, I don’t want to, really.

I wonder if this has much to do with my current heavy consumption of Stephen Fry’s material. I’m listening to one of his autobiographies (audio books are a recently-discovered joy, handy because I can absorb them while keeping Back Brain busy with other things), in which he goes off on sparklingly synonymic tangents and, indeed, staunchly defends his right to do so. I’m also watching Jeeves and Wooster in the evening, which is something I shouldn’t have avoided for so long. Fry and Laurie do Wodehouse justice in a way I truly did not expect them to, much as I adore them.

Unfortunately, I am a terrible mimic when it comes to writing. I don’t mean I’m bad at the mimicry – I’m not, I’m very good at it – but that it is a worrisome habit that I all too frequently indulge in. I want to speak in my own voice, but my own voice is made up of all those voices I have absorbed through page and person. And sometimes one of those voices shoves to the forefront, either because it’s most appropriate or, more probably, because it’s closest to hand.

I suppose that if I’d just finished a rereading of Chuck Palahniuk’s books then these first entries might be a good deal more concise and unpleasant. Count yourselves lucky.
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I get through the afternoon at work effectively, despite ending up on a monotonous trail through Amazon Associates’ various international portals. Fuck me, but the Australians want their pound of flesh before they’ll let you in. I had to print out a form on an actual physical piece of paper and fill it in. I take back anything unkind I said about the Americans.

I’ve not got as much done as I wanted to, but I’m not sure whether that’s because of mind or circumstance. I certainly didn’t piss about with anything irrelevant, which is excellent, but I did spend quite a while staring in glassy-eyed confusion at the screen, which is not. I think I’ll tentatively put that down to a side effect of Amazon’s nine circles of Associate Hell, rather than the meds.

At 17:16 I am feeling myself, for better or for worse. In theory, the meds should be starting to wear off now. I’m not sure whether I’m meant to build up a residual effect, or whether I shall always default to ‘idiot’ in between doses. [Now, that’s an unkind way to think of myself. Dr. E told me to stop that. I shall amend to ‘reasonably bright, but ineffectual’. Much better.]

I think I could continue working very happily for another few hours, which is unusual, but I can’t put that to the test because I’m due for a meeting with the local lefties. It’s them I wrote the article for last night, so hopefully I’ve accrued enough brownie points to escape without further instruction. I’m getting married in three weeks, damnit, and I’ve got to stop accepting unpaid work.

– Oh, that’s interesting: just looked in the mirror before heading out and my chest (below the collar bone, above the breasts) has gone red and blotchy. Not unheard of, but usually it only happens when I’m aroused or anxious. High heart rate being the common factor here, I suppose.


The meeting goes well, and I type up the minutes as soon as I get home. I regret having a cold brew coffee, as my heart rate is now sitting at around 80. This may be the end of my love affair with caffeine. A horrendous thought.

I am also sad that I couldn’t eat a full (small) portion of chips and a fishcake. My stomach rumbles and my tongue appreciates the treat, but there’s a gap somewhere that kills the anticipation and enjoyment of the actual consumption. It’s possible that I will have to be more vigilant than I thought if I am to stay a healthy weight long-term. It’s also possible that I’ll just get used to this and start stuffing my face again, of course. We’re only on day two.

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