I don’t know if I have ADHD, but it’s a convenient short hand for me to describe how I move in the world. It’s the self-diagnosis of the year, so if I say “That’s just my ADHD” brain, everyone understands and it saves time. I no longer have to say:
“Look. I don’t know why I do what I do. Yes, I told you I’d look at your essay for your college application later today, but then that conversation was zapped from my memory Men in Black style. I just forgot it happened. I didn’t want to forget, I even wrote myself a little Post-it and stuck it on my computer. And my brain just integrated that Post-it note into “what my computer looks like now” and I didn’t see it as anything of note (haha, get it? Of NOTE!). That reminds me of a story…”
Instead, I can say Yes, I will look at it but text me at 5 if I haven’t done it yet because I have ADHD and as soon as I have a new conversation with someone today, I will forget I ever talked to you until you remind me.
The popularity of DSM-V (are we on V? Is it IV? or VI?) goes back to the 1980s. Maybe earlier, but I was born in the 70s, so I can’t be expected to remember anything before that. In the early 90s every headline was about Depression. It may seem unimaginable now, but no one said “I think I have Depression” before the 90s. It’s probably because there were no anti-depressant SSRIs to publicize, so no one needed to Search Engine Optimize a diagnostic term. We only had the adjective “depressed.” Which was like “sad” only more sophisticated.
About ten years ago, everyone went crazy for Sociopaths. You thought they were only in your horror movies and nightmares? No! They’re in CEO boardrooms and surgical theaters. Suddenly there were “Sociopath Tests” and books about “Snakes in Suits.” The protagonists of popular TV dramas became sociopaths you root for like Walter White, Joe Goldberg, Tony Soprano, and Dr. House, leading us to question, “Can I change him?”
Move over, Sociopath, it’s time for Narcissist. It’s like a Sociopath but sexier. Everyone on a Reality Show is a Narcissist, but only one or two are Sociopaths. We call them “The number one guy in the group.” Therefore it’s far more sticky a topic for social media. Those popular books from the Sociopath Era taught us that many former presidents were probably Sociopaths, but ALL of them are Narcissists. I mean, come on. You have to be a Narcissist to think about the most powerful job in the world and think, “That should definitely be me.”
Plus, for those who love to classify and divide, there are a bunch of types of Narcissist: overt, covert, antagonistic, communal, malignant, Tom Sandoval…
And suddenly we are all psychiatrists who can diagnose strangers and make a whole YouTube channel about it! And it’s great fun. It feeds the parts of our psyches that seek to understand other people and their motives because we’re designed to do that for our own social survival. Which is actual survival because we’re social animals.
Welcome to 2025, the year of ADHD and AuADHD (for those lucky stiffs who are also autistic).
No doctor has diagnosed me, and I don’t really see the point because I’m not going to do anything different with “an official diagnosis.” I’m not going to go on medication for it, no matter how much it would help –I just can’t take another damn pill, pen, patch or cream. I just use “ADHD” as a shorthand to help those I interact with to keep their expectations realistic.
Take my blog (please. And support me on Patreon). It’s embarrassing how many times I’ve promised to blog more often or get back to blogging and then just never do it. Maybe you imagine me trying and failing to write. Sitting at my computer attempting drafts then- finding them wanting- not publishing them?
Naw, son. I just forget my blog exists. Out of sight, out of mind. Poof. Gone.
Another thing my brain does is see connections and themes across media and everything else. It’s great for my job as an English teacher and it made Comparative Literature the perfect major for me. I think it would make me an excellent FBI agent, but I’d probably forget that is my job and totally boof it.
I don’t know why The Goddess in her infinite jest wisdom created me to remember nearly everything I’ve ever read, watched, or thought about TV shows, books, and movies then made me an amnesiac in my actual life such that I forget I’m supposed to make dinner, but here we are.
It’s also terrible for my job as an English teacher because as soon as I see one of those connections my lesson plan goes out the window and I chase that rabbit down that hole, delightedly info-dumping my insight on my students until I forget what the original lesson plan was even about.
Lesson plan. OMG, who are we kidding. I have ADHD. I plan my lessons in the car on the way to school.
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie 
Happiness looks different
Happiness is so different for me at 53 than it was at 33, or even 43.
Sunday afternoon I came back from a charity event with my daughter. The older I get the more I hate leaving the house, but my daughter was really excited about participating in this community event for L.A. fire teen victims. We live a few blocks south of the evacuation zone, but many of her school chums lost their homes. It’s been a devastating year. We have always been renters, and we moved two years ago from an affordable but small little house in a great area. The landlord lived in the house next door and used to get drunk and stand on his porch scream-singing, so it was awkward to say the least. What finally made us move from this below market rental was sewage backing up into the bathtub.
For the third time in a single month.
And the four of us were sharing one bathroom. At one point in the last six months we lived there a bucket with cat litter was our bathroom for a few days. When you get something below market value, let’s just say you get what you pay for.
I’m still sad that old shitty house burned to the ground. We were happy there in the ways I used to be happy back then.
I was writing about happiness, wasn’t I? That’s so like me — to get so into backstory I lose the original thread.
I came back and Odie had gone to the grocery store already. Fresh snacks! I snuggled into my bed, turned on my Christmas present tv, and saw that Murderbot premiered with the first two episodes.
Happiness now: me in my cozies (yoga pants with holes, a tank top, an ancient cardigan washed to exquisite softness over years); a show to watch, ice cream, my favorite spoon. To quote Marianne Dashwood in 1995’s Ang Lee masterpiece “Sense and Sensibility,” Is there any felicity equal to this?
To quote Mike Schur’s 2009 masterpiece “Parks and Recreation,” Everything hurts, and I’m dying.
Odie and I went to the Renaissance Faire on Saturday and my hips, knees, and ankles ain’t what they used to be when I was a spry 26 year-old carrying a banner in the opening and closing parades. The Faire isn’t what it used to be either. The clothes for sale are cheap yet overpriced. The crafts for sale are less frequently the work of artisans and more often the work of 3D printers. The storyline of the fair has vanished. When I worked every weekend in the 2000s, there was a through-line for the entire experience. We knew the politics. The Queen was on progress in the midst of tension with the Spanish who were salty about English pirates. Young Master Shakespeare was with the traveling court to write plays for the pleasure of her majesty. My guild “performed” an afternoon dinner, Tudor style, for the entertainment of gawking tourists, which mostly involved eating lots of bread and cheese, then napping on a hay bale.
However, I love dressing in authentic period clothing and touring the booths and looking at the costumes of other patrons, so we had a grand time. Yes, the younger me would have looked down my nose at the women with off the shoulder chemises (HARLOTS!) and their knave companions violating sumptuary laws with impunity (who are all these nobodies in armor?). But happiness is different for me than it used to be.
Taking my girl to a charity event. Spending a few hours in the natural fiber, authentic period costume I’ve curated over years, piece by precious piece. Apple TV. Ice cream. My favorite spoon.
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