An Ode to Executive Dysfunction: A Short Inner Monologue

I see the mess on the kitchen island. It may not seem like it but yes, it does bother me. I wish it was tidy. Along with the multiple shoes that I left by the front door and the stain on the carpet at the foot of the bed. I am chained to my ambitions. Every day I wake up with a new to-do list like finally painting my wall or mopping the floor. For every one accomplished duty, two more are birthed in its place. Even in the midst of one duty, another appears and I move on, either leaving it for another day or another person unintentionally. It’s how I can start sweeping and somehow end up outside pulling weeds in a fifteen-minute time span with unfinished tasks and open closets in my wake. Misplacing things is the bane of my existence. Picking something up with targeted intention, my phone, keys, chapstick, an important document, and it vanishes because my hands have placed them somewhere that I have no recollection of. The time I spend looking for lost items is both uncanny and frustrating. Walking into a room multiple times a day and forgetting why I even got up. It’s infuriating, my memory.

I don’t want to forget.

I want to remember.

“Can you say that again?” is something I find myself requesting often. I haven’t quite figured out the sweet spot for how I remember things. If it’s too new or too old then it’s possible that I’ll have no recollection of it. These issues are cyclical. I’m late for most things. I have a hard time getting organized and if by some miracle I do, it’s seemingly impossible to keep it that way. So I lose things in my menagerie of stuff. I look for the things I lost and it will almost always mean that I’ll be late to where I need to be in thirty minutes. Now I’m rushing and I’ve forgotten something. My perception of time is skewed. If I can push it, I will. If it’s eight minutes away, I believe I can get there in five. I might be able to but the attempt is exhausting either way and I probably can’t.

Life is a series of ceaseless tasks. It’s the reason I’m not too hard on myself when I don’t do everything I wanted to do. It’s the reason I feel okay with showering and laying down after a nine-hour workday instead of removing the expired items from the fridge. If I know nothing else I know that I have to keep going. I don’t know if I’m doing everything right. And at some point, I’ll clear the kitchen island and tend to that stain on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Just not tonight.