Last June I watched “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” with friends. Here was a man, like me, who daydreamed excessively. I wish I could say that Hollywood made a laughable exaggeration of how epic daydreams could be, but I'm afraid they were fairly comparable to mine. Although I don't drift away into a reverie in the middle of conversations or when on the job, I do drift away—far, far away beyond the restraints of this mortal world or time. The original short story portrayed Mitty as a noble Everyman who fought the banality of his life with the only weapon he had on hand: his imagination. It celebrated his struggle to rise above subservience and become a leader even if only within his mind. The movie featuring Ben Stiller took a different approach. [1] Like the short story, Mitty here was a subservient man with only his daydreams to give his life a semblance of meaning. The effect over all, however, was pathetic, not noble. Going places and doing things were activities...
I would like to thank Blogger for selecting my column as a Blog of Note . I am thrilled to find so many like minded individuals making the comments section an intellectual treat. Curse you! I haven't been able to get anything done for a whole week. One of the comments from last week's column was a terse reprimand by a woman (I assume) who urged me to not think so much and do instead. Ignoring the fact that her short comment judged my life by only the words of a humorous column I write each week, she also showed a lack of understanding of the AD/HD mind. Not think so much? If there is any one defining aspect of AD/HD it is the lack of contemplative thought before action is taken. We are masters of the instantaneous impulse. Take today's subject matter for an example. There you are, grieving family members around you, the organ plays in the background, and you've got this really funny joke to tell. Happen to you? No, me neither, but I do know a guy who appa...
I've been wondering how to tackle today's column since I'm experiencing what I call the "slow tick". Whereas most people think of flailing arms and jerking necks when the word "tic" comes to mind, slow ticks are like being played in slow motion. There is an odd disconnect in my mind as I am aware of what to say in realtime but my mouth has a hard time keeping up. Walking becomes fun as well. Brain: Shift to the right. Let's avoid that wall. Me: Wha? Brain: Shift! Shift! Me: The wall? Boof! It's not quite unlike wading through jello. I can see where I need to go but the world is all woogily and I'm unable to get through it with any manner of celerity. But get there I do. I refuse help whenever possible. I'll be darned and knitted if I'm going to let this stupid disability get in my way. Don't be fooled by my bravado. The disability gets in the way all the time. Like this morning as my sweet four year old tried to help me ...