I meant to get around to this earlier…

Displacement behaviour: when suddenly you feel the need to shift a negative emotion or stressor to doing something else. Right now, that means sorting tax papers instead of finishing a class handout or sending out a query letter. (During Finals Week, my displacement behaviour was cleaning the bathrooms. My apartment was REALLY CLEAN after Finals Week.)

One rationalisation I have at the moment is that I am correcting for last year’s “planning fallacy” — organising and tracking down information and figuring out the electronic filing of my federal and state taxes took me longer than I had anticipated. (Folks with ADHD are terrible about planning fallacies, because of the weird fluidity of perceived time.)

Ooh, I just found some neat links on new research into the causes and coping strategies for procrastination … *

STOP!  

That’s just a rationalisation. Set aside those tax papers for this weekend, and get back to the correspondence. Damn. And, *sigh*.

Meanwhile, here are some of my mottos that you may like:

Fidget quietly.

Pile by file**.

Perseverate positively.

Obsess functionally.

_____________

* Go to the Wikipedia page on Procrastination; they’re at the bottom. Sorry; I can’t be an accomplice to all of us wasting too much time…

** Which of course, later turns into File by Pile. But if your piles are already rough-sorted, then they don’t need much more than sifting out unnecessary junk (credit card offers and candy wrappers and expired sticky-notes), and maybe some date-sorting.

I prefer the OHIO method for when I get the mail: Only Handle It Once. From the moment it goes from the mailbox to my hand, I don’t dare set it down until I have binned the junk, set the catalogs and magazines in the appropriate reading zone (e.g. the bathroom), and push-pinned the bills to my bulletin board with the due dates highlighted. Otherwise, if I put the stuff down, it gets lost and forgotten in the dèbris of my desk!

Bird of Prey

baby bib made from starry sky print calico, with Klingon Bird of Prey ship outline embroidered in green floss

Uncloaked!

Pureed pea and carrot torpedos fired, the ship is more visible!

Doooommm…

a meter-long icicle hangs from the roof join

roof’s leaking.

Grandma’s Counting Book

(not suitable for an embroidery sampler)

1  Pair of shoes that fell apart, plus

2  belts that did as well.

3  Pairs of sad slacks with stains.

4  Part-time jobs I’ve worked this year, for

5  people whom I’m supporting.

6  Pairs of raggedy undies and

7  pairs of holey socks I tossed in the trash.

8  Hundred is a great credit score,

9  hundred is a mortgage payment,

10 days since I’ve applied for a mortgage in just my name, and

11 months I’ve paid the mortgage on my own.

12 Kitchen cabinets & drawers that are falling apart, plus

13 year old stained carpeting and gouged vinyl need replacing.

14 Days after applying, the letter will follow the phone call that said Grandma doesn’t make enough money to get her mortgage.

We live interesting (albeit grungy) lives

My daughter just remarked, “Swords, teapots and rubber duckies — wow, that Bon Ami is great stuff!”

Hanging around the Web

Cruising the Web BW

A shiny robot spider hangs upside-down from a metal mesh

My son and I recently hauled a long dresser+mirror up two flights of stairs, and I cleaned up the master bedroom in preparation for the return of the new baby & parents from the hospital.  The downside of course is that after a day of labor, I must spend a couple-three days recuperating.  (In other words, I used up all my “spoons”, down to the last demitasse.)

I’m also on Day 2 of one of those low-grade-three-day migraines.  Right now it’s manifesting as misreads, which when I catch myself is kind of entertaining:

In light of all that, I thought I’d share some interesting reads/cool finds on the Web recently:

My sleep-deprived daughter would be envious of ant queens, who spend nine hours a day sleeping, while the workers must squeeze in micro-naps.

From the world of delightful architecture, an adult tree[less] house shaped like a bee skep, made of recycled lumber (wheelie adaptation not included).

The CitizenM hotels have the most amazing showers, which look like Star Trek transporter pads.  To start the shower, you simply shut the door.  I don’t know if they’re large enough for a wheelchair transfer to a shower seat, but with the zero-clearance there’s a chance of it (maybe Dave knows). Want!  (Or at least the trés geek LED shower head that changes from blue to red when your water’s hot.)

Reimer Reason posted It’s a Family Reunion! for the most recent Disability Blog Carnival.

In further hexapod news:  while I was distracted by our little geekling, Bug Girl has been faithfully covering Pollinator Week, including important information about CHOCOLATE. For more funs, Cheshire has teh latest Circus of the Spineless up.

And of course, what would a list of fun be without a LOLcat?

Six white kittens lined up and looking at the camera, while a seventh is distracted with a play ball

Six white kittens lined up and looking at the camera, while a seventh is distracted with a play ball. The photo caption reads, "PUZZLE PICTURE Find the kitten who has ADD."

Weather’s here, wish you were fine

Summer sucks.  I hate the heat, the humidity, the sizzling sun boring into my head, unpeeling my limbs from each other, the restless nights spent searching futilely for a cool spot on the sheets and being sleepless for the lack of the comforting weight of blankets, the lack of appetite, the omnipresent glare, the complete lack of energy … it’s depressing, and won’t get better until fall weather arrives in late September.  I don’t even have the respite of an alpine vacation to look forward to.

Raynaud’s is weird; my toes and thumbs can still go numb, even when I’m hot.  WTF?!

Plus, now I have a head cold, the whole sniffly-scratchy throat-more aches-feel crappy routine.

“How can you have a cold?” asked my coworker yesterday, “It’s summer!”

“Back in the 20th century, they discovered that cold are caused by viruses, not by cold weather,” I sniffed.  (OMG, now I’m officially Old, I’m saying, “back in the 20th century”.)

“I’m just kidding,” he grinned.

Oh, right.  I realised that about the time he said it.  Nothing new there, either.  (File under: Aspergers, misses jokes.)

My sunglasses broke.  Things around the house keep breaking (kitchen drawer track, drawer pull, cabinet front, bathroom ceiling paint, tub’s chipped, towel rack needs to be masticked back on, kitchen needs painting, bedroom needs painting, kitchen flooring’s gouged, back patio’s settling, double pane-windows are fogged up, ad nauseam).  And the thermostat is broken and won’t set the air conditioning below 83°F.

The cats keep fighting.  My son can’t find a job.  And my daughter is nine months pregnant and belly-aching, as is every pregnant woman’s right.  But the house is hot and none of us are sleeping well.

::bleh::

But, a good distraction is the latest Circus of the Spineless, over at Bug Girl’s blog!

Hotbed of Apathy

*sniff, sniff*

“You sound sick,” stated my daughter’s fiancé, M.

“I can’t be sick,” I mumbled in protest, and honked into a tissue.

“Redunculus; you’re sniffling.”

“I can’t be sick; it was Mr W’s day to be sick,” I explained.  “He got first dibs on being out sick today …  If all the classroom staff members who were sick stayed home, there wouldn’t be anyone left!”

I’m sure the students wouldn’t have minded having some of their classes cancelled.  But no, we slogged through the day, hour after dreary, mind-numbing, O-PLZ-STFU hour.  It was, I decided, a veritable hotbed of apathy.  The lead teacher was battling a sinus infection, and I was suffering from what felt like temporal phase-shifts.  And my aches ached.  My ears were ringing and making sharp pains and I was having dizzy spots and nausea.  I was cold and then would have a sneezing fit and then be hot, and would have some odd spastic tic and then be cold again.  They cannot invent a vaccine for this shit any day too soon.

It’s worse when you’re feeling crappy and working 60 hours a week. But it seems like every few days I discover yet another person who’s working multiple jobs, the latest being a cashier with two jobs and Lupus.  (Maybe what the economy really needs is for everyone to take a week off just to get some rest already.  All in favor say, “Aye!”)

And then there’s the strange stress nightmares I get before a semester starts, going through an interminable dream about teaching 3rd grade but starting the same day the students do, and having an unworkable U-shaped classroom without a chalkboard or whiteboard, and the women’s bathroom stalls all cost 75 cents in quarters to use, and …

If you, too, are ready for a diversion, our favorite engineers (previous post) have a new video up on Advanced Cat Yodeling.  M just about ROTFL, as he has been Yodeling with his cats for a long time, and favors the Machine Gun Kiss™  approach.

Cool thoughts

[Not-quite Wordless Wednesday]

M’s wisdom, via poetry magnets on our fridge:

word magnets reading, "We Value Information As Our Power"

word magnets reading, "We Value Information As Our Power"

Backwards Symphonies

“It’s been a long week — I bet you’re ready to decompose.”

I stared at my husband, blinking through the mental fog of too-many-jobs-not-enough-sleep.

“I’m not ready for the compost pile yet,” I replied, trying to figure out what his latest malapropism was meant to be.

“Or whatever the term is,” he added.

My brain finally catches up. “Decompress,” I answered.

What an incredibly long week.  I can’t remember the last time I had one like this, and in my over-busy world that’s saying something.

Wednesday last week I had a pneumonia vaccination, which left my arm so sore I couldn’t take off my jogbra without assistance, nor even get my hand up to head level until the weekend.  Moreover, Read the rest of this entry »

Stop me, I’m having too much fun!

/SARCASM

I keep fixing things around here, increasingly with the wonderful help of the Kid (who at 17 now has skillz in home repairs unmatched by his dad, which is a satisfying thing when you’re a teen).

The bad news is the increasing apparency of a 2b/f ratio, where 2 things break for every 1 thing fixed.  I replaced the garbage disposal, and one of the brackets for the shower towel rack broke, chipping the tub enamel as it fell.  I replaced a shower head, and the textured ceiling crap is coming off the bathroom ceiling (necessitating scraping it ALL off, then painting on sealant primer and ceiling white), and apparently I need to unclog the P-trap to the bathroom sink.  We replaced a light fixture in one bedroom, and I observe that the ants have found a new inlet around the kitchen sink/window, and a curtain tie breaks, spilling beads all over the floor.  We replaced a light fixture in another bedroom and two more garments get added to the mending pile.

And so it goes. Which is partly grousing and partly an explanation for why I’ve not finished several posts.

(Oh–there’s another bead…)

Remembering to Remember to Remember to …

I went and drew the bath. When the tub was full, I took off my pyjama top, and realised that I had forgotten my towel.

I fetched the towel and then realised that I meant to mow first before bathing.

Shut the bathroom door to keep the heat in, I went and changed into gardening clothes. Unplugged the mower from the charger, got one strip done, and then realised that I had forgotten to put on the bag — I wanted to bag the grass clippings to use them for mulching the vegetable garden.

Fetched the bag and put it on the mower. Mowed several strips, enough to have filled the bag, and then found out that I had forgotten to remove the chute block that lets the grass into the bag.

At this point, I realised there was a trend: I kept forgetting things, including the planning-ahead bits. Oh, yeah — I forgot to take my medicine this morning, including my ADHD med.

Usually I try to put my pillbox atop my MacBook when I go to bed, to remind myself the next morning to take my medicine promptly.

But that requires remembering.

Pain “All-Sorts”

Damn anthocyanins!

See what a college education does for you? It allows you to cuss using polysyllabic words.

This morning I awoke with an “icepick headache” type migraine as well as stiff arthritic joints. Then as I was pulling my large, soupy bowl of near-boiling oatmeal-with-blueberries from the microwave, I spilt it all over my hand and wrist, the shelf, and of course, the cream-colored carpeting. After running cold water on my hand for a couple minutes (it’s fine, if tender — I’m not wearing my watch for a couple of days), I had to go back and swab up the spill. The purple anthocyanin stains from the dried-then-rehydrated blueberries will be quite the test of my carpet-cleaning spray.

Meanwhile, the physical pain of ice-pick migraine has bugged me off and on all morning. The good news is that although it’s horrible and intense, it lasts no more than a minute. The bad news is that it tends to repeat periodically through the day. Made a point to take some more medication before my exam tonight.

~//~

Glancing through newsbits was less entertaining — there’s a reason why I usually read blogs in the morning and news in the evening. (I do glance over the headlines in the morning, just in case western California decides to crumble into the Pacific or something.)

Oh the conceptual pain … it’s sort of thing that Stephen Kuusisto calls, “the neurological equivalent of a foot cramp”. This is from Time magazine, “Huckabee’s Texas Evolution” (hyperlink is to single-page, text-only version), which describes US Republican presidential candidate Huckabee and his support for intelligent design, and the upcoming Texas State Board of Ed elections (emphasis mine):

Republican Barney Maddox, a urologist and ardent supporter of creationism. … Maddox, who declines media interview requests, has posted his writings on the web at sites like the Institute for Creation Research and has called Charles Darwin’s work “pre-Civil War fairy tales.”

Now there’s some irony as heavy as a falling Acme anvil.

https://i0.wp.com/img186.imageshack.us/img186/4171/anvil1cq2.gif

Sorry — I didn’t realise the clipping was an animation — hit your ESCAPE key to freeze the action.

(Picture description: this is a pop culture reference to Roadrunner cartoons. Wile E. Coyote was always trying to do in the Roadrunner, including dropping an Acme brand anvil on him. In this cartoon clipping, there’s a pile of birdseed in the middle of a road, with a sign stuck into it saying “Free”. The road runs underneath a natural stone arch somewhere in the US desert Southwest, and hanging below the apex of the arch is a heavy iron anvil. Presumably the unseen Coyote has a hold of the rope tied to the anvil, and is waiting for the likewise unseen Roadrunner to come running by. Of course, Coyote never succeeds, as Roadrunner is way to smart for him. Beep-beep! )

~//~

Just to complete this triad of pains for the day, I realised that I was wearing a new turtleneck for the first time. Normally when I get new clothing I remove the sewn-in brand name, size and laundering tags. Clothes-tag irritation is not as much a strict dermal irritation (there’s no rash), but rather is a constant hypersensitivity, a small but chronic sensory pain.

So before I washed this turtleneck I used my seam-ripper to carefully pick out the threads holding the labels at the collar seam. But by this mid-morning I realised that I had missed a tag, a big long one with laundry instructions that was unexpectedly sewn to the seam just below my ribs. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the spare time to sit around partially-disrobed in a toilet stall and employ my Swiss Army Knife scissors to the task of snipping a line of tiny stitches.

You would think that after a little while my brain would habituate to the sensory input and I would forget all about the silly tag. Well, it does, for a few minutes. But then I twist to do something, and I notice the annoyance all over again. Repeatedly, all day long. ARRGH!

~//~

Well, it’s time for me to wrap up my day soon. The icepick headache hasn’t shown up for a while. My wrist is less tender. It was wonderful to yank off the turtleneck and put on my soft, old honeybee pyjamas.

I aced my test this evening. And the last fix-it job I did on the dishwasher seems to have worked — we have machine-cleaned dishes, and I didn’t have to pay someone to come out and fix it, nor “hold vigil” for a repair person who would supposedly arrive “between the hours of eight and four”.

Oh joy, there’s the tinnitus popped back on again. And I’m getting another canker sore in my mouth. Well, can’t win ’em all.

Time to go

“How long can it take to walk out the door?”

Other people ask us this. They are incredulous as we struggle to get to places on time, much less with all the materials we needed to have.

We also ask ourselves this when we are getting ready or planning. Surely, we think to ourselves, merely walking out the door and getting into the car takes almost no time at all.

As if!

And that’s why we struggle to get to places on time.

It takes us far longer to “get our shit together,” to remember everything we need, and then get into the car, and unload all the baggage, settle down, and get ready to drive. The least speed-bump in the getting-ready process (like a mislaid car key) throws everything into chaos, which stresses us beyond dealing with that little event, often resulting in getting so distracted from our tediously-created coping methods so that we forget something we usually can remember, or almost-forget and have to go back in (maybe more than once) to fetch something nearly forgotten.

Take a deep breath.

Let it out slowly.

Yeah. Just thinking about these situations reminds us of all those crazy days, weeks and months and years of them. We remember all the scolding, the embarrassment of being late, of missing appointments, of getting to places without something important or even the most necessary thing that may have been the reason for us going there in the first place.

Just being stressed about trying to leave on time makes things worse; the clumsiness increases. Even after finally getting ready one morning (in N-recursive steps, as usual), Read the rest of this entry »

Maslow Cleans House

This How-To post is dedicated to a pal of mine who was commenting about how hard it is to get the apartment (flat) tidied and cleaned up. I was trying to describe how I used Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, natural supports, and the Premack Principle together as means for organising this most mundane set of chores.

In this case, we don’t mean that housekeeping is “hard” in the sense of physically mopping a floor, but hard in the sense of figuring out where to start, how to keep the momentum going, getting the job finished, and even figuring out what to do with stuff. The so-called “executive functions” of planning, execution, self-monitoring et cetera are not limited to office work — they are just as necessary in the realm of what used to be referred to (somewhat tongue-in-cheek) as “domestic engineering”.

Amazingly, tidying and cleaning a small apartment is more difficult than doing the same in a full-size house. Granted, the larger house has more rooms, which in turn means more square area to be vacuumed or mopped, and may mean twice as many toilets and tubs to scrub. But the problem with the tiny domicile is that the average 21st-century post-industrial resident has a certain amount of Stuff for daily living, and that amount of stuff does not shrink proportionately just because the domicile does. (I love the German word for “stuff”, Kram, because cramming my Kram into odd places is what I spend a lot of tidying time doing.) Worse, small residences usually lack great amounts of storage space. Unless you are spartan in your personal possessions by dint of poverty or strong design aesthetic*, you have more stuff than the meager cabinets and closets will hold.

Of course we have to pick up first to clear the surfaces so we can clean them. But we could spend all day trying in vain to get things picked up, especially if we have AD/HD and are easily distracted. Picking up is way too recursive — you pick up one thing to put away, take it to where it belongs, find something at the end point or en route to the end point, pick it up, maybe put away the first thing, try to put away the second thing, maybe manage to do so without being distracted by the third thing, or get interrupted by a phone call or a cooking timer or remember something else or…

Heavens, at that rate you would need to get your shoes re-soled before you got the place picked up! And in all that, you’re making a half-assed attempt at trying to clean things as well, because you got thirsty and found something moldy or spilled in the fridge and —

ARGH!

To make any headway in my own domestic engineering, I finally had to set up a hierarchy, somewhat similar to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The needs are dual, based upon the needs of the residents for living there, and also upon the housekeeper for being able to get things done effectively. My own order of operations is set up as much as possible for natural supports to be created. Read the rest of this entry »