Oh, Frigga’s Day. This iteration of you has not been my favorite.
Also, I just realized if you know enough about the subject, you can tell I have ADHD just by how I approach my Monday/Friday posting goal.
My default way of thinking about a deadline that comprises an entire day isn’t that I should have my shit ready to go for when that day arrives, as I imagine some people might. Fuck no. In my mind, my posts are due by 23:59–as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And I mean, sure, I guess I would like to have them done and posted sometime during actual daylight hours on goal days in a vague, sort of philosophical way. But even if I do happen to start one ahead of time, it’s only because I had the chance and felt like working on it. The intention still remains having it done and posted by the end of the next goal day. I would literally never consider having one already in the barrel for a Monday or Friday morning. That’s just crazy talk.
Ahhhhhh, the intersection of procrastination and technicality.
And seeing as I have precisely 47 minutes to get this done and posted (you can see what led me to this realization), Imma just toss out two other examples of those MOs that popped to mind as I typed that. It’ll be an experiment in writing both off the cuff and succinctly. I excel at the first and–CLEARLY–suck at the latter. I’m also completely unmedicated at this point, so the odds of this actually working out are slim to none. And despite a dozen or more attempts, I could not nail down the right music for tonight, so I randomly have the Fugees’ “Killing Me Softly” on repeat (and I say “randomly” because although I love this song, I haven’t really listened to it in years and this isn’t the type of music I’m normally into these days). That way I can sing along and have a little discrete dance party as I write.
And yes, my Friday nights are always this exciting. It’s okay to be jealous.
Okay, here we go.
Both of these stories are from my days as a college student, which was a very long, very drawn out, fits and starts type of affair that ended in, well, it certainly didn’t end in a degree, which is all that seems to matter to society. Turns out, that’s not uncommon for those of us with (especially undiagnosed and untreated) ADHD, regardless of intelligence or capability. But that’s okay. If I had finished my degree, I’d probably be drowning in student loan debt right now while still being un/under-employed like so many of my cohort.
OH, WAIT. No, I wouldn’t. At least the debt part. Because I went to university in Canada and qualified for resident tuition. And still didn’t finish my degree. That one’s a long story for another time.
How am I doing on the succinct bit?
Okay, first story is from the second junior college I attended in California while working full-time, like you do (here in the States). My undergraduate goal was to double-major in history and political science with a minor in religion, so I wrote A LOT of essays. One Friday night, I had an essay due at 17:00, which put it during rush hour, meaning when I finished it at quarter till because procrastination, it was doubtful I would make it there by car in time to deliver it to my professor, who I knew would be in her office waiting for my last-minute ass. So I asked my boyfriend if he could bring me on his motorcycle, as that was clearly the faster option.
I grew up with parents who rode motorcycles and I was taught appropriate safety precautions from a very young age. But this one time, as I was in such a frantic hurry, I chose to not put actual shoes on like I should have and hopped on in my flip-flops instead. It also happened to be the one time we ever crashed on that bike together when the car in front of us braked suddenly for a deer as we were coming down a steep, windy road through thick trees and foliage. Thankfully it was a dual-sport and made for crashing, and I was at least helmeted and had jeans and my riding jacket and gloves on. The palms of the gloves were scraped to shit, much like the tops of my poor feet.
But as they say, it was only a flesh wound. So with the other driver looking on in shock and confusion, we both immediately got up, got the bike upright, waved to said driver, and sped off again. I raced up to my professor’s office and handed her my paper at 16:59, only slightly bloodied.
Me, that is. Not the paper. I had at least put that in a backpack for safe-keeping.
The second story is from my time at university in Canada and involves the final grade for my class on Ancient Judaism. My professor was younger and extremely smart and passionate, and I loved his class. He was also more than a bit fussy and particular, which I can empathize with just as much as the next more than a bit fussy and particular person. Unfortunately, his class followed a frustratingly common pattern for me, wherein I found myself at the top of the class come the final paper, yet could absolutely not manage to bring myself to actually complete said final paper. (In fact, I don’t think I even attempted to start that one.) As I may have mentioned before, my teachers and professors over the years both loved and hated me. Because, you know, something something undiagnosed ADHD.
Anyway, he had weighted the final at 50% of our grade, and since I had full points for everything up to the final, I was like, cool, I’ll take the C. So I emailed him and told him I wouldn’t be completing the final and would take the C.
It didn’t go over well.
And like, I get it. That has to be monstrously disappointing for a professor. I mean, I know it is. He’s obviously not the only one I pulled that on over the years.
So he was understandably pissed and refused to give me a C and told me if I didn’t hand in the final, I wouldn’t pass the class. However, that was complete bullshit per his very precise grading system and he knew it. So I told him that, except probably not in those exact words.
It didn’t go over well.
But I got my C.
On a technicality.
And even though it’s now midnight-thirty…
IT WAS ALL WORTH THAT BALLER ENDING.
Night, y’all!
Ware the Words 