I miss the days when I could lock myself in a practice room and know that no one would bother me for a few hours. As much as I love my sons, they never ever shut up and they are physically unable to leave me alone to work. I miss my old scrapbook room/office. It had a door. With a lock.
This is how I know I have Adult Onset Child Induced ADD. I cannot complete a thought or an task without my attention being sucked elsewhere. It’s bad enough that I’ve taken online tests to see if I really have ADD, and have considered asking my doctor what she thinks. Thing is, none of the online tests indicate any kind of attention disorder, and my doctor, bless her heart, has three kids (including a child on the spectrum) and knows that parenting pretty much kills the functioning brain cells that survive pregnancy. So I’m afraid I’m on my own.
I had a point here, but it was lost hearing that last argument from upstairs. No school today, it being Columbus Day and all. Finally had to pull out my own personal Nuclear Option. The only way I can not hear Riff and Raff is by putting on the good headphones and cranking up the tunes. So when I finally end up clinically deaf, it won’t be because I play piccolo. I have two different kinds of earplugs to prevent that. Dang. Heard them, break in the music. I can’t get the volume much louder. Maybe I’ll combine the earplugs and the headphones.
My complete inability to concentrate or follow through with things I need to get done is starting to become a problem. It’s one of the reasons I can count on less than a hand the number of posts here in the last month; the other reason being a suffocating depression brought on by three years of chronic and escalating stress. I’m finally starting to pull out of that hell; better living through chemistry and all that. I’m just overwhelmed and overextended and overtired and over it all. I’m also rarely alone, a bit of a problem for an introvert. Love my family, need an office with a lock and soundproofing. I have no idea how Tom can block things out and concentrate; I
blame credit the XY chromosome combination.
Well, I was going to wrap this up with a point, but the mind is too far gone. Between the music I have blasting so I can block out extraneous sound and the realization that it’s 6:30 and I have not begun dinner, my attention has been pulled too many directions to settle on one and do something with it.
My brain. I miss it.