The Imaginary Invalid

Last night, on a whim, I decided to look up adult ADD (attention deficit disorder) on the web.

Afterwards, I was really sorry I did, because immediately after reading some websites, I thought, 'Uh oh, that sounds like me.'

I've always thought my short attention span, inability to keep anything organized for longer than five minutes, free-association stream-of-consciousness thoughts, hot temper, forgetfulness, fidgetiness, procrastination and mild dyslexia were all just part of the quirky, flawed package that is me.

Now I find I share these characteristics with untold numbers of Americans, and I'm not as special as I thought I was.

I guess the consolation prize is that folks with ADD are supposed to be creative.

Great. I can start the World's Greatest Novel and because of my disorder, I'll end up never finishing it, or I'll finish it and forget to send it to the publisher, or forget where I put the manuscript for five years, during which time someone else publishes a similar novel.

Hmm, it even makes sense that I do well at nursing; I perform extremely well at something I like when I have external pressure applied, but when the pressure is off, I revert back to a state of complete ass-numbing inertia.

Speaking of which, isn't it time for a nap yet?