A Typical Day for a Writer with ADHD.

I live in the beautiful state of Alaska. In the summer, the sun is up all night. We're going in to August now, so we’ll begin to see our first true night skies in months. I’m an early riser, so the summer sun is nice. But honestly, I get overstimulated by the constant sunlight. By the end of July, I look forward to the fall, and even winter. But talk to me again in February.

What does a typical day look like around here? How much writing do I get done in a day? What are the obstacles preventing the writing I dream of accomplishing?

The first obstacle I face, even before coffee, is my animals--two dogs, a cat, and four chickens. I get up early, and they are ready to eat immediately. They each need lots of attention first thing, and so it’s almost like having young children again. At least that’s what I grumble about as I stumble around pre-coffee.

After the animals, I get in the hot tub with my coffee--on my days off. (On workdays, get up at 5:00 am, sweep the snow from my car and go to work as a middle school teacher. But let’s not talk about that. Let me enjoy what little bit of summer I have left.) My hot tub soaks are quiet and meditative. Ideas come. Problems are solved. Hope springs for the day.

Then I get dressed and make breakfast. I heat up my forgotten coffee and determine to tackle the never ending list of ‘must-do’s’.

I decide to start a load of laundry, but realize I must switch clothes over to the dryer, so I get the clothes out of the dryer and stack them with a pile of unfolded clean clothes. (I’ll get to those later).

After dropping of the clothes, I forget what I’m doing, and I go into my art studio and look around. Realizing I have other, more pressing issues, and I decide to come back to the studio later. I reheat my coffee.

I remember the laundry, so I start a load. I attempt to clean up my kitchen, but maybe I’ll start a sourdough loaf first. But first I’d better empty the dishwasher. I reheat my coffee.

Maybe I should write. I sit down and open my computer and stare at my work in progress. Oh yeah. I need to get the sourdough started. I should empty the dishwasher and clean the kitchen before I start that. I go in circles for a bit here.

My brain hurts. I need an Instagram break. I reheat my coffee and sit down. At last--something I can focus on. But thirty minutes go by, and I’m mad that I’ve wasted that time.

The washing machine has finished its cycle, but I don’t have the energy to open that Pandora’s box, so I ignore it. My brain feels like it’s lost all charge. I go outside and lie in the hammock. I take a quick nap. It’s the best part of my day.

Okay. It’s afternoon now. Wow. Where did the day go? I guess I should write a little bit? 

I sit down and just begin rambling about ideas when suddenly my brain kicks in. Funny how that happens. I usually procrastinate about sitting down to write because it feels like the ideas will never come. However, when I sit down and just start playing around, the ideas are always there--just waiting to be invited out to play. And occasionally, I actually remember some of those ideas from the hot tub. After a successful writing session, I vow to just ‘get to it’ every day. I vow to sit down early in the morning and get that writing done! It’s easy! It's fun! I’m good at it, if I would just sit down and do it! And tomorrow, I will! (Note: I don’t)

Dinner seems an impossible task. What did I accomplish today? Hmmm. Not much. Tomorrow will be better. Only it might not be. Maybe it has something to do with the moon and my creative cycles. On certain days, I have intense bursts of laser-focused productivity. On those days, I get a great deal done. But some days look like the one above, and it’s exhausting. Can you relate? 

If you thought this was going to be about writing schedules and routines, I apologize. I’m not that writer. I wish I was. I have so many ideas rambling around in my brain, and if I had a brain that worked reasonably well (normally), I imagine my dream of matching Nora Roberts in productivity and success would have been realized by now. However, if my brain worked neurotypically, I doubt I'd be as creative.

And alas, life also gets in the way of being creatively productive every minute. Bills need to be paid. Grandchildren need to be loved. Gardens need to be tended. Art must be made. And the ADHD will never subside in my brain. Anyway…somehow the balance works.