Ok in what feels like centuries ago, when the internet was a more fun place, when we had blogs instead of toks, and there was MySpace, and Craigslist was the real town square of your town — There was RadioFreeNYC.org.

It was my anything / nothing site (remember those). Initially I started it as a tech challenge, to force myself to learn how to build a site, design, code, install server stuff, etc. Then when it was built, I posted on it. It had a small following, occasionally I ran into someone that read it.

But then, more frequently someone else I knew would read it and they’d get mad at me for writing something about them. A lot of those times I’d swear I’d never do it again… I wasn’t lying… I didn’t intend to but I’m impulsive and my ADHD wasn’t in check back then1.

Also, I used to fictionalize my life a lot. Nothing tooooooo crazy, but it was a like a writer’s notebook AND SOME EX’S couldn’t get over the one time I might have done that to them even though they were anonymized — and what I wrote wasn’t that bad2 — and they didn’t bother telling me how upset they were about it for the entirety of our almost five year relationship — and then finally used it as an excuse3 to break up with me at one of the lowest points of my life — WHILE I was going through a nervous breakdown — AND THE GODDAMN SITE WAS ALREADY TAKEN DOWN TWO YEARS PRIOR…

Yeah, so I guess RadioFreeNYC.org wasn’t… you know the best thing, or most positive or healthiest thing I ever did…

So that’s why I when I found out that RadioFree.NYC was open I snatched that shit up in a heartbeat! Because the point of RadioFreeNYC (dot-org or otherwise) was that that I never fuckin’ learn baby!

The wonderful side effect of the surgery I recently had is that I’m dropping a lot of weight, and pretty quickly. When I run into someone I haven’t seen in a long time it’s usually the first thing they say is something like “Oh my God, you’re almost skinny.”

I really don’t feel like telling near complete strangers my medical history, so I just started to say I have cancer. “Yeah well, it’s moving fast. So I don’t know. I’m going to fight it, but I’m at peace if it wins…”

There’s always a bit of a pause. Then I follow it up with “You know you were always f a dick to me, because you made a little more, or you lived in a better neighborhood, or you were part of the cool clique in the office. It was hurtful, and wrong, and I just want you to know in case the cancer does take me… I will never ever forgive you for it because you should have been better.”

Fucking with people — particularly people who don’t mind their fucking business — is never not fun. So teach I them a lesson, and I smile a little — because don’t I need joy during this trying time1?

However, with the weight loss and my current employment situation, I’m in a place I’ve never been before. I’m in a world where I can afford and fit in nicer clothes — and it’s fucking refreshing.

For the past few years I’ve been buying everything in the Old Navy catalog, jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, shorts, and so on — and I learned to hate Old Navy in the same way I hate the Foo Fighters2. They’re both ersatz. In the Foo Fighter’s case, it’s Nirvana, punk, rock ‘n’ roll, or whatever musical genre Dave Grohl rubs his overrated taint on.

Old Navy is a cheap imitation of what people are wearing. It’s like their main clothing designer is an alien who specializes in cheap knock offs from PBS kids TV, and religious and educational comic books.

Case in point:

The worst part is when they make them “vintage.” It’s not vintage. They don’t even wash them a ton of times to fade them. They just sort of print it aged, and it looks terrible.

Then there’s the jeans… Okay I’m not going to lie they’re pretty comfy and they’re light so they’re good for summer. But look at this:

Does that fading look real? Or even close to real? It looks like someone air hosed the indigo on.

Or how about this?

The holes are EXACTLY the same from pair to pair. It’s like they use a cookie cutter or something.

I know they’re cheap, so maybe I’m asking too much, but this week I ended up ditching most of my Old Navy clothes. Let me tell you, hauling them all to the closest charitable thrift shop was the best mood booster I ever had since Lexapro.

However, now the question is “what do I wear now?”

I started working on the answer a couple of weeks ago by digging through my closet. I tossed more stuff, clothes that had bad juju, like the shirts my old boss made me wear (until I stopped caring) from when I worked at The Daily Mail3. I also got rid of things that were just really dated, or whatever I just knew I wasn’t going to wear.

Then I started watching men’s fashion Youtube’s and Googling. I started by getting a few basics to just refresh my wardrobe. You know a couple of shirts, a hoodie. I ordered a bunch of jeans from Levi — good ones too, dark wash, that’s shrink to fit, and several different cuts so I can experiment.

Then figured it’s time to give some other things a zhuzh too. I bought an expensive pair of Chelsea Boots that I’ve always wanted. Then I got some new Chuck 70s and low-tops. Then I picked up my old day to day blazer, it’s a bit worn, but serviceable — so I started collecting pins to accessorize it. Sort of like how Rick has his jacket in The Young Ones.

Then as I was going through all of this, I started asking myself things like — am I a scarf guy? Could I rock this thing? Can I wear a blue denim shirt or is it too Pennsyltucky4? Should I get my ear re-pierced5?

During the poor dark depression days I never really had to think about this stuff. Because (1) I couldn’t afford anything good anyway, and (2) I really didn’t give a fuck. A typical good day was rolling out of bed and bothering to put on something clean.

Things are different now, I want to look cool even though I’m no longer in my 20s or 30s. I don’t want to chase ephemeral trends. But I can still peacock a little while staying grounded.

Yes. I said it. I want to peacock. I couldn’t peacock while I was dealing with a decade or so of untreated depression.

Above all, as I’m switching up my wardrobe I want to stay to true to my roots — but maturely. I want to be a little preppy, but have a punky sprezzatura, and it’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be to find it.

Post-surgery, I did what I said I was going to do. I enrolled in a Kung Fu class. It’s a little spot in Southern Brooklyn, that’s hidden in plain sight. Over the years, I must have passed it by 100 times and hadn’t noticed it.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. The only thing I know about Kung Fu is from movies and Wu Tang Clan songs. When I was a kid I did Tae Kwon Do. I wasn’t very good at it, but I enjoyed punching a lot.

Yeah I know, Tae Kwon Do is more of a kicking martial art — but hey grandpa was a golden gloves boxer. My legs are short, but strong so they’re better for footwork than using them offensively. Most of my musculature is all shoulders and torso.

Which I was hoping would help me out here, the Kung Fu style I ultimately chose is Wing Chun. It’s what Bruce Lee learned originally. It’s a style meant for close quarters fighting and is more about strikes and slaps than grappling and kicking.

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I’ve been thinking about my time in the hospital a lot. The beeps, the lights, the amazing painkiller drugs, the human drama, the pretty nurse who wheeled me out of the surgery room.

I was so whacked out of my gourd, I actually said to her “You’re really pretty. Please don’t tell my girlfriend I said that.” It’s a little embarrassing, but hey there’s worse things to say to a nurse I suppose.

I knew I was going into surgery for a long while, so it was easy to have that be the predominant worry. Now that it’s gone, my brain has been out of whack since I got back. My anxiety has been cranked up to about 8 or 9. My ADHD has been loony tunes. Even with Vyvanse it’s hard to concentrate on anything. Especially anything important. I barely touched my novel, and starting my masters is both an imminent threat and a century away.

When this happens. Things get weird. I start researching and obsessing over stupid shit. The most recent, are bonsai trees. Yes. I was obsessed with the thought of owning, and raising a bonsai tree.

I’m not saying getting some cheap ass shrub from Home Depot, and watering it occasionally. I’m saying getting an honest to God bonsai tree train and shape and stuff. Just like in the Karate Kid.

Of course when I obsess over getting stupid like that, you know I have to have it. I found a lovely asian nursery in my neighborhood. Forty bucks later, she trimmed it down a bit, repotted it, and now I have a baby bonsai that I named Miyagi.

The other obsessions have been getting a scooter, or a Honda Cub, my own health, bike touring (both on the Erie Canal and the East Coast Greenway), and learning Kung Fu (actually Wing Chun).

That’s not to mention the obsession for getting the perfect everything ready for grad school which is both starting tomorrow and 100 years from now.

It’s all fun and games until the anxiety kicks in, and boy howdy does it. It just won’t stop. Is my body going to betray me again? Will I need to go back to surgery? Is work mad at me because I had to leave for two weeks? Did I miss a step along the way? Am I? Is this it? Am I fucking up? Will I be fucking up if I never took the medical leave off?

The lexapro is keeping the panic attacks down to a minimum, but they’re there, waiting under the surface.

This I suppose is depression. It’s been an old friend to me, for almost as long as ADHD. One might have invited the other to the party my spicy brain was throwing. I know, unless there’s a radical evolution in treatment it’s always going to be that way.

I can live with it. I’ve been getting better at handling it in the past couple of years. I just hope it calms down soon this time around.

Okay, so I’ve been enrolled into grad school for a couple of weeks now. I sent my official transcripts over. I still have to send my vaccination stuff — yes I am vaccinated for anything I should be vaccinated for.

And so should you!

So everything is set, the only thing I need to do is enjoy my summer, enroll into class, and hopefully not screw this whole thing up.

Nope.

I am obsessed with finding and using the perfect everything for this next great venture. Because I convinced myself if I get the perfect everything, it’s going to go great… unlike the last time when I first started college.

To be fair though, I’m not with the world’s most toxic girlfriend anymore. So that’s going to help a lot. But, I’m still literally obsessed with starting this off as perfectly as possible.

This is how crazy it is, last week. I woke up, had coffee, talked to my therapist about the imposter syndrome I’m feeling about getting into grad school. Then I went to the LES, shoved my way through an army of tourists (the fuckin’ animals), and then spent $150 on the perfect pen.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. Here it is:

It’s a Kaweco SUPRA Fountain Pen. It writes like butter. More than butter, it’s like a lightsaber for words. It’s also made out of solid brass. If I whip it at someone’s head it’s going to hurt.

It’s not why I bought it, but it’s a nice feature.

Now, something that not a lot of people know is that I prefer to do my writing analog. I like using fountain pens on pads, I like typewriters for first drafts. I am one of those writers that does have strong opinions on which notebook is the best.

It’s the Leuchtturm1917, preferably B5 size with a dotted layout — and any other opinion is wrong.

Now, if you made it here you’re probably asking “If you know what the perfect notebook is, what’s the mystery?”

Well, grad school changes my needs a bit. I need something to keep me more organized, with a little storage. Like a trapper keeper from way back when, but less Lisa Frank unicorns and more Indiana Jones.

The fountain pen search was easy. “I want fountain pen. I like this brand. Go to pen store. Walk out with pen.”

The operative words there, are Fountain-Pen. Easy. Google fountain pen.

What the do I google for this? Folio, portfolio, notebook cover, padfolio, trapper keeper? Yes, all of them. Because there’s a million different options and none of them are quite right this triggers my A.D.H.D. and now it becomes a hunt. The hunt becomes an obsession. The obsession becomes an ongoing google search that leads me into a s deeper and deeper rabbit hole.

Should this be leather, or is canvas ok? Zipper, snaps, or buckle? How much can it hold? Etc.

Even if I figure something out, like the most likely winner is from Lochby.

This happens…

Yeah, it’s totally empty. Which triggers a deeper search into what to fill this thing with. What size notebook, color, page count, page quality — because I’m going to use a fountain pen which would bleed through a regular marble notebook. Should I put in a couple of smaller notebooks in, or two larger ones? Could I fit in a reporter’s notebook on top of that, along with a couple of pens, 2 felt tipped red markers, and maybe a post it pad?

Yep, and around and around it goes.

The last one, with the notebook is REALLY killing me. I’m probably getting the B5, it’s a comfortable roomy size. But finding THAT perfect one is next to impossible. Again, I have something specific in mind. I want a page count of 60 sheets, and the pages need to be thick enough that I can use the damn fountain pen I picked up.

Did I mention, that I want the notebooks to be cheaper than $20 a pop?

Christ, if it’s not the course work that’ll kill me it’s my ADHD brain.

In that version, I still kept every ‘fuck.’

“Okay, you see that?” I point to the Nathan’s Hotdogs on the boardwalk. The newish one.

Allyson glances at it, “I’m not hungry.” She says it as if she’s neither interested nor disinterested. Factually, she’s just not hungry.

We connected on OkCupid a few days ago, and then met in real life a half hour ago at the Stillwell Avenue train stop. On her profile she mentioned that she had an 'inscrutable face.' I thought that it might be cute, but what she meant was 'impossible to read' and unnecessarily snide.

“No, I mean…” It's getting dark, and she's still wearing her mirrored sunglasses. In its lenses I can see I look as stupid as I feel.

“Well, what then?”

“There used to be something cool there is all. There’s all sorts of fun weird bits of history here.”

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I’ve been threatening to leave Wordpress for a while now. I know people love it, but honestly I hate being nickel and dimed for every single feature. Then it feels overly complicated for what I want.

What I want is a simple goddamn blog, that doesn’t look like total ass, and is easy to adjust and work on.

Besides, I hear all the cool writers are here now. If writers are cool. I haven’t met very many that I would consider cool — besides me. I’m dope as hell.

Also I’m in a creative writing program, I have to be able to hang.

So here I am. In a new corner of the internet. I like the set up. Writing on this thing seems to be easy. There’s nothing really to adjust, so I don’t have to worry about that. I wouldn’t mind a background image or something (how about that ? Background image. You know. For uniqueness.)

I also like the fact I can call out the powers that be at the (while I’m at it, why not some sort of integration with Bluesky? That’d be pretty good too.)

Anyway, I have a couple of things left to work on. Like a wordmark, and I have to do something about the name. I thought about the Notorious PVM, because I thought it was funny. Now it’s just meh.

I’ll come up with something. Anyway, hi. We’re here. I’m active and stuff. Subscribe, or don’t. Whatever.

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So… yeah.

I got in.

This is another moment, in a week of other big moments.

I also had surgery this week. I don’t want to talk about why. Suffice it to say. my body will be changing. No, I’m cis-gender and I’m staying that way. I just decided to handle a physical ailment that’s been plaguing me since I was a kid.

That physical change, is leading to more choices on how to get healthier. All that is good. I can be physical again — ya know bike ride, hike, take some sort of physical training classes.

Then now I got into grad school. I’m not complaining about this either. This is also good. It’s something I thought about since I went back to school 20 years ago, and then off and on since I graduated in 2011. I wasn’t sure with my academic history if I’d get in, then there was the matter of money. My student loans are insane… Then I ended working for a college and now its free.

I can afford free.

Right now my A.D.H.D. is screaming . What do I focus on? The surgery, recovery from surgery, post surgery, grad school, classes, a thesis, books, the future…

Holy shit… I have a future.

With the abusive nature of my first ex, then calamity after calamity, surviving one economic disaster after another. Then going through jobs like CBS where I was basically Guantanamo Bay’d, and then the Daily Mail.

Just a note, if you ever wondered what the Daily Mail’s office is like, watch Severance. I might have said that before, but it’s still accurate.

Then finally ending up in the saddest advertising company in the world. To FTI, where I was basically human chattel… ok human chattel that was smart enough to put their bland webpages together, but not smart enough to do much else.

All of that, all of it just demolished my psyche. I was scared if I ran into my shadow if I left the apartment, and I was angry about that. I was angry that I was just so reduced.

Now, it’s just forward and I really don’t know how to handle it.

But I know I will.

I’ve been working on my application to grad school. It’s taking an extraordinarily long time. I’m not sure if I’ll get in or not, I just want to give it my best possible shot.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been slowed down from working on my application because I’ve been grieving. I lost my good friend Tim.

I’m going to try and not eulogize him, because I’m not sure if it’s my place to. But I will say, out of all the people on this planet that I ever met — I have never had friend who got me as completely as Tim did. The guy’s experiences were like a fun house mirror’s reflection to my experiences. I hope he felt the same.

Him leaving us fucking sucks, it’s not fair, and the world has been lonelier and sadder. He was supposed to be here if I ever published my novel, and I was hoping to read his book one day.

I’m really going to miss you dude.

Click page to embiggen

Click page to embiggen

Been sick for the past couple of days, it kinda sucks because I lost time working on my grad school application…

Yeah, it feels weird seeing that phrase in reference to myself.

I don’t expect to get in. I dunno, I just don’t have the confidence to think I will. The people that get into this are good, and if I’m kind to myself I’d say I’m “ya know, alright. I’m okay. Yeah, I’m okay.”

But it is giving me something to look forward to, and aspire for. I’m working on the assumption I’m going to get in. So I’m planning to read a whole bunch, and try to get through a book a week.

I have a backlog of books, and quite a few of them are biographies OR memoirs. I haven’t been able to get through because of my vision. But between my kindle, my Vyvanse, and a new pair of prescription readers I think I could handle it.

I also have medical leave coming up for an upcoming surgery, so I’m going to split that time between Starfield, reading, and writing the novel.

My other worry, and I know its too soon, is what should my capstone / thesis be? I have the rough idea of “spooky Brooklyn,” so far though I haven’t found any leads.

There’s also the wrestling idea, which was to write about an indie wrestling promotion based here in NYC. The problem is with that, I’m worried about my social anxiety. There’s a lot of interaction, talking, people… I’m not really great at any of them.

I was also thinking about some sort of memoir, like an epic trip. That’s money, I can’t exactly take a couple of months off for that. Especially, I’m not exactly sure what the point would be. America is fucked? Yeah, no shit.

I’ll have to keep working on it. Assuming, I do get in, I’ll have some time to figure it out.

An ongoing theme in my therapy is when things are doing well, I don’t know how to handle it. At any given moment, I really expect it all to fall apart. Because that’s what happened before. I don’t want to go through the whole history of it, but but from 2009 to about 2020 I was really struggling. Financially I was struggling, emotionally I was struggling, physically, mentally… pretty much in all aspects in my life.

Then only reason it stopped in 2020 is because COVID 19, gave me a huge break. I didn’t need to go to the shitty corporate office anymore, so I was spending less money. It offed my terrible landlord¹, so my apartment was completely repaired, and then was rent stabilized.²

Eventually the shitty corporate job let me go, which ended up being a blessing because I was able to change my health insurance to something better, so I was able to see a doctor — then I got a better job… you know when bad things snowball, sometimes good things do too.

Anyway, I have vision insurance, a pretty good one too. Normally I would go with the cheapest option, so Warby Parker.³ The thing is though, I have the money. I can get a really nice pair of glasses, the place I work at is so cool, they’ll let me GO TO THE DAMN EYE DOCTOR WITH OUT GIVING ME SHIT ABOUT LEAVING 15 MINUTES EARLY OR SHORTING MY PAYCHECK.

Yeah I’m looking at you CBS, Daily Mail, and FTI.⁴

So the thing doing well after so long of not doing well, it’s really paralyzing. Where do I go? What’s cool? Can I afford it?

Obviously yes for the latter, it’s not like I’m going to go and get a $600.00 pair of glasses. But I can splurge out a little for a designer pair of prescription sunglasses. Which, yeah, I really want to do. I earned it right?

Did I? Or am I just telling myself I did? That’s the thing, after having such a long period of time of struggle and pain, it burns you all the way down to the soul. Even when it’s over, its never really over. You’re always going to be looking over your shoulder, for the next disaster. You convince yourself, that doing something nice for yourself, even occasionally is folly, because you could use those resources for an upcoming rainy day.

Even though I’d look killer in a pair of these:

But pulling that trigger, even going to the store to try them on it’s a terrifying prospect. Unless I win the lottery, or some how end up getting a couple of million from a novel or something,⁵ I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to treat myself without that tinge of regret.

1. It’s ok, she was like in her 80s, and still had lead paint in the apartments. Ones with kids in it. So she was like a real piece of shit.

   

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2. Just a fun note about this. The only good thing that shitty landlord did was never raise the rent. She probably did that because she was probably hiding rent income so she didn’t have to pay taxes. So when they gave me a lease, the building was rent stabilized — so they couldn’t raise me more than what the rent board guidelines were. So essentially, I’m paying 2009 prices right now.

   

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3. To be fair though, I really do love their frames.

   

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4. Yeah, fuck it. I’m naming names from now on.

   

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5. I know it’s unlikely, I just like to dream ok?

   

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I wrote this about a week ago, and then I forgot to publish it (ain’t that the way.) I’m no longer in the shitty motel in New York State’s hinterlands, but back in my less shitty apartment in Brooklyn.

I’m in a shitty motel in the middle of Syracuse, it’s snowing out. The place is a flop house, the sheets haven’t been changed. The TV is broke. My brain can’t sleep even after a megadose of melatonin.

I often admired those writers that lived in flophouses and made something. But my typewriter is around 300 miles away, and honestly I don’t have much this second.

Although I do have something to talk about. There’s two masters programs I’m looking at, the MFA in creative writing at City College of NY, and the Biography and Memoir MA at The CUNY Graduate Center.

Both appeal to me. The first one is because I have a novel in me, that I’m trying to get out. Doing that degree would give me a chance no, no– it would give me an excuse to finally finish it.

The Bio and Memoir one, also appeals to me. I write a lot of memoir. I keep a diary, a blog, but I always really loved the idea of being a documentarian.

I did a stint as a journalist and working in a news adjacent spot for about 5 years. But during my time there, I was so miserable I almost threw myself in front of a subway train. So straight journalism isn’t the way to go for me.

But the MA, gives me an excuse to actually document something. Their definition of Biography is pretty loose, I can document something like a neighborhood or a counter-culture. But what’s more, is that it gives me the chance to be something, or someone I always wanted to be…

And of course, only me with my neurodivergent, spergy brain would consider this with any seriousness — but the someone else would be a person or an archetype that mainly exists in fiction, but could feasibly cross over into the real world.

Who would this person be? Don’t laugh, but… Kolchak, The Night Stalker.

Kolchak is a bit of an older reference, even for me. So if you’re an Xennial or Millennial — he’s like Fox Mulder from The X-Files, but instead of an FBI Agent he’s a reporter.

So it would be really cool to use that time for my MA, to be Kolchak and write a book on spooky Brooklyn. There’s got to be genuine ghost hunters, alien abductees, vampires, demon houses, and the like. Right? Brooklyn alone has 2.74 million people, that’s a lot of unexplainable kooky shit that could happen. And God knows what else is out there in the rest of the city.

So, yeah. It’s another thing to consider. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do this sooner than later. Somehow.

I don’t know how other ADHD people describe it. I don’t socialize, nor bond, especially with other crazies — but I think the best way to describe it is it tunes the static out. Like a radio that’s tuned into a station. The FM stereo light is blinking a lot, but I’m able to hear the music.

So I’ve been taking advantage of the upgraded brain. I haven’t been journaling or blogging as much as I should have. However, I am happy to report I’ve been able to read more and I’m actually outlining.

Outlining is one of those things I learned you should do in screenwriting school. It’s something I bucked against, until I learned the hard way on how useful it is. Despite that however, my ADHD brain often bristles against it.

My ADHD demands instant satisfaction. So I often try to get something down for an outline then brute force the first draft. The problem is, by trying to bash my way through an outline, there’s no time to develop ideas. So my first draft ends up being this half-baked piece of shit, that takes TONS of successive drafts to fix… if it ever does.

So when I decided to revisit the novel that I was working on in my 20s, I decided to skip an outline. I don’t know why, I just thought it was a good idea. Of course after typing out 100 pages on my typewriter, I figured out it wasn’t.

So I decided to go back, keep the parts I like and outline.

Here’s the thing though, when I started to outline again that’s when I started taking the Vyvanse. Developing the story, digging deep into a chapter, pulling back out, seeing what’s missing, trying to figure out where they fit, rearranging, editing, trying again — it’s so much better now. It’s enjoyable. It’s never been enjoyable. Usually, it felt like its something I should be doing, but it wasn’t something I liked doing.

It’s so amazing that this tiny little pill, filled with pennies worth of chemicals could just change everything for me. I swear, if I have to run to Canada just so I can feel like a normal person, and write like a writer. I damn well will.

4th class apparently means “Take your sweet time USPS, it’s not that important.”

I’m not sure if it’s a psychological thing, or something I just happen to notice — but since I got diagnosed it’s like my ADHD’s volume got cranked up from it’s normal 6-7 to about 9 to 11. It’s been hard to concentrate. Hard to sit still long enough to produce anything.

My question is, was I always like this and because I now know — it’s effecting me more? Regardless, I still need to work, and I still need to produce enough REALLY SOLID material for my MFA application. But Oscar, my ADHD, just isn’t letting me.

It sucks, it feels like I’m being dramatic, but I’m not. It’s all just noise in my head that goes in this rapid succession so it almost sounds like radio static. But if I had to put words to it it would be this:

My material is mainly screenplays. I want my MFA to work on a novel. I have to start the novel. I started the novel and got over 100 pages in, and it’s a mess. Learn from the mess, think back to the lessons from screenplays and from my time at The New School. Okay I need to outline — if I have a roadmap, I can work from there. Cool, start the outline — oh shit I haven’t played Skyrim in forever. No wait, go back. Yeah but I can’t outline with this computer, I need an iPad. Fine get the iPad. Got the iPad — oh the keyboard I bought is broke. Back to Skyrim. Return the broke keyboard, buy a new one — weather sucks — ooh that dark elf is starting shit and he has scale armor! Goddammit. Got a new keyboard. Cool… I can’t concentrate here in the place I built specifically for concentration, the girlfriend is distracting. She’s not fucking here! Oh shit Skyrim! Go to the library at work no Skyrim there. Okay don’t know what to write — that’s why I wanted to outline. Too hard. Chunk it. You have the basic timeline write that down, fill it out. Too hard, need coffee. Get the fucking coffee, then try again. Got the fucking coffee… outline outline outline — how do I do that again? FUCK! Start with the basic timeline! You have that! Just get it out! I miss my typewriter. It makes noise. You can do the first draft on the typewriter. When? Soon as you outline the first half. When? Soon as you outline the first half. When? Soon as you outline the first half. Which typewriter, Olive or Grandpa? Worry about that later — Okay the main character is in the Staten Island woods. He doesn’t want to go– Skyrim? No. Just a Google? I want to see where my medication is? It’s lost in the mail. You’re not going to hear anything until Monday the earliest, then they’re going to have to send it again. TEXT – You owe the doctor $400 for finishing the initial appointment that already cost $700. You have the money, worry about it later — oh shit MindNode’s outline feature is pretty tight. Let’s start there — Okay… Nope. I dunno what to do. You’re outlining chapters. You’re practically writing the damn thing. Slow it down, brainstorm. Get the timeline. I need a new keyboard. You have one. I need a new one. So I can arrange my writing desk better with the iPad and/or computer. It’ll only cost $30. You said you can’t concentrate there. Yeah, because I’m distracted by the fact my desk is tiny, and the iPad is big. FUCK!! Fine! If you don’t get it you’ll be looking up YouTube videos about it until you do. I don’t do that. You did that with the iPad. Was it a good purchase? Yes! Now please… Something anything. Royal Rumble time! Come on! Just watch the replay on Peacock later. Yeah, but spoilers, and I’m a little hungry. We can make popcorn and order a pizza, maybe make wings. God fucking damn you.

Yeah, so it’s like this right now. It sucks.

Also, bonus, I just found out that I’m probably going to lose a few pounds from it too. So win-win-win.

Hopefully.

Every fuck up, every mistake, every time I spaced out in class, or flipped out about something minor, or took too much on, all of it could be attributed to ADHD.

I still think about the great breakdown of 2012, and how ADHD probably played a huge hand in that. If I knew, if I got treated or something — I don’t know. I’m not sure if things would be different, but it would have been prevented at least

Without going into too much detail, I had a total mental breakdown in 2012. It led to a break-up and then a long period of time just isolating myself.

Today I had my second appointment with my psychiatrist. We’re giving Vyvanse a shot. I’m not against medication. As the Reddits say I’ve been “rawdogging my ADHD” for my entire life, and although with all things considered I did ok.  However, I know I need the help.

But since we’re back to back and then back to a god awful president and coming off of a mediocre one, there’s still shortages of ADHD drugs. I’m trying to be hopeful though, I probably live in the capital of ADHD so they have to have a pretty big supply over here.

Fingers crossed.

However, lets assume for half a minute I could find a source that takes my insurance (America, amirite?), and to go further down this thought experiment — what happens?

Do I end up more creative, less? Or will I be able to focus on being creative? What happens to the never ending dialog in my head?

I know the person talking in my head is me, but that voice got me through a lot. Its almost like a friend. If the medication quiets it, will I notice? Will I feel lonely? As long as I take the drugs, will I be normal?

Maybe one of you could tell me… You know on second thought, don’t. I’m afraid of your answer.

I always wondered what it felt like being normal. As far back as I remember, something always felt off. Like there was some sort barrier between me and the rest of the world, or I just felt different.

I guess now I know why, and I’m excited about finding out what I’m made of with my ADHD under control. I want to give things a shot that would have been in impossible, like an MFA. I want to be able to finish a novel. I want to be able crank out more work consistently.

Despite it all, and despite the horrors in Washington right now. I’m excited for the future.