I don't remember always having A.D.D. In an honest admission I'll have to reveal that this is a self-proclaimed diagnosis of attention deficit disorder that most would agree I am no where near being qualified to determine, but I work at MedExpress; that has to count for something! Doesn't it?
I mean, people walk in here every day claiming to have swine flue, strep throat, gonorrhea, and several other diseases which often requires, or at least they beleive it requires, a visual at the front window of their open wounds, rashes, or their personal hankie because how could we possibly know whats wrong with them without seeing first hand the gunk being expelled from their nostrils. ((These are instances of previous encounters, no fiction here.))
Regardless of these ill-mannered, germ infested patients who diagnose themselves and would clearly be a bit healthier if they had cut back to three packs a day instead of four, or showered every now and then, it's not their needs or their stench that truly keeps me from the books I initially accepted this job to be able to read. It is in fact an issue of A.D.D. I mean, it has to be! To be quite honest, I'm already bored with writing this. Perhaps this is clearly why I can't commit to doing it every day. It seems that the only thing I can commit to these days are hours of online shopping and thinking about exercising (sidenote: thinking in this context is not meant as a synonym for "anticipation". Sadly the thought of exercising does not excite me to a point of consuming my thoughts while awaiting the next opportunity to make it a reality. Thinking, in this sense of the word means all thought and no action. On a bigger and sadder note, thinking is also the reason for the 5-10 pounds I've surely gained in the last month, well, that and the cheese and spinach stuffed pizza sitting in the breakroom of work I'll be heating up in the toaster oven any minute. Come to think of it............................................................................................................................................................................................
Mmmmmmmmmm,make it 10-12 pounds. Honestly, I'm just glad it's winter and flow-y, heavy, thick and disguising sweaters are in style.
So what the hell was I talking about? Oh, A.D.D! How does one actually get diagnosed with A.D.D.? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not believe "I can't get shit done" is covered by my insurance company. What brings you in Ms. Aponte?
Well, Let's see. I majored in English Literature and I'd rather pick my split ends for hours than read a book these days and my boyfriend thinks I'm unstable...he may be right.
Are you on any medications?
I'd like to be.
anything you take currently?
Birth Control, because clearly we don't need more of me!
Okay, truly, I'm bored. And I'm willing to bet you are as well.
It's over.......phew!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
What is up?
Things are looking a bit more bright these days. This brightness is of course, no thanks to the Pennsylvania skies of gray and gloom which make it hard to differentiate morning from night through the looking glass. It is however, with thanks to several unexpected friends who allowed me to pour my heart out to them while they not only loaned a listening ear (or in some cases a racing eye as they had to keep up with repetitive messages of my overly verbose typing on facebook) but who also had some words of their own in response. I know I joke about being self-absorbed, but sometimes I really don't just want to hear myself talk---pick up your jaw from the floor, it's really not THAT shocking.
The thing is, sometimes you get tired of being the one everyone comes to for advice because a one way street often hits a dead end, and let's just say, at the end of this street was a garage of hopelessness I drove directly into and parked there for awhile. Well, after struggling in park I finally managed to find reverse and believe it or not, I can see the sun endlessly fighting to shine through those gray skies.
Now, if only my tangible means of transportation would follow the lead of my mental mustang, we might be cruising through good times. Clearly this is not the case. I kid you not when I tell you that the second the first flurry of snow fell upon my ready to retire ford contour, he/she basically decided that if I was going to make it suffer through the bitter cold it finds so unfamiliar having come from South Carolina, it would make me suffer through the embarrassment of driving it until it decides that I should suffer in the cold as well. The day has not come, yet, where I have been reduced to trudging through the formerly white turned concrete gray and unsanitary snow in order to reach safety (because surely my cell phone will be dead when this happens), but let it be noted that this in the moment I most dread and anticipate. I'm not sure how much longer my financial means will restrict me to the clunker car unworthy of even the worst 16 year old drivers (if Officer Baker has any say in it I will be driving this car for the rest of my life) but I'm thinking my next drive will be to buy a lottery ticket. Just sayin'...
The thing is, sometimes you get tired of being the one everyone comes to for advice because a one way street often hits a dead end, and let's just say, at the end of this street was a garage of hopelessness I drove directly into and parked there for awhile. Well, after struggling in park I finally managed to find reverse and believe it or not, I can see the sun endlessly fighting to shine through those gray skies.
Now, if only my tangible means of transportation would follow the lead of my mental mustang, we might be cruising through good times. Clearly this is not the case. I kid you not when I tell you that the second the first flurry of snow fell upon my ready to retire ford contour, he/she basically decided that if I was going to make it suffer through the bitter cold it finds so unfamiliar having come from South Carolina, it would make me suffer through the embarrassment of driving it until it decides that I should suffer in the cold as well. The day has not come, yet, where I have been reduced to trudging through the formerly white turned concrete gray and unsanitary snow in order to reach safety (because surely my cell phone will be dead when this happens), but let it be noted that this in the moment I most dread and anticipate. I'm not sure how much longer my financial means will restrict me to the clunker car unworthy of even the worst 16 year old drivers (if Officer Baker has any say in it I will be driving this car for the rest of my life) but I'm thinking my next drive will be to buy a lottery ticket. Just sayin'...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
tiny little mishaps
When and where do people find time for this day in and day out? Don't get me wrong, the mere idea of consecutive sentences consistently complaining about the vices and annoyances of the world sounds more satisfying than the majority of the 8oz. steak cooked to medium rare perfection and the baked potato smothered in butter in sour cream practically melting at the tip of my anxiously awaiting tongue that I just minutes ago enjoyed to the very possible extent of enjoyment. But, much like every positive thing in life (or at least my life), those mouthwatering leftovers were left alone and growing cold at the end of the dimly lit table where it has by now faced its unfortunate fate of the dumpster rather than the less unfortunate fate of my belly. So much for a breakfast feast of steak and eggs.
Anyways, no sense whining about the missed opportunity of a second good meal. If complaining were to again be the purpose of my #unknown rant I'd much rather complain about a separate series of unfortunate events, like perhaps 12 hours of academy award winning drug seekers and ill-mannered coughers spewing their symptomatic germs all over my counter space while I can't even enjoy a half hour lunch break. Or maybe the drive back form South Carolina that took an extra 4 1/2 hours because, well, because the horse and buggy system my boyfriend currently bitches about in the Amish town where he resides doesn't always seem that terrible of an alternative in comparison to leaking breaklines.
I'm not exactly sure whether everything happens to me or just appears to happen to me, but even my bunny expectations have fallen through the cracks of my hopeful fingers. All I wanted was to fill those cracks with the warm fuzziness of a furry friend whose utter cuteness would make me "oooooo" and "awwwwwe" like most people do at the sight of a new born baby where as I'd much rather prefer the company of friend who I can buy (or in this case simply take) rather than incubate for nine months and then force out of a part of my body that should never be forced to expand that large. It's gross, I know.
Point is, my expectations lately have been much too high, with the exception of my cake however, a cake that took 25 years to finally be taught to make by my reluctant mother. No, she's not a greedy hoarder of cake recipes, but it has taken being away for months at a time for her to show the nurture side of herself. (she's a softie with a tough exterior, wonder where I get it from).
The thing is, at some point you have to wonder why things fall apart and why these tiny little mishaps carry so much more weight in my head than the successes, like my cake, or the fact that even almost five hours behind schedule, we still made it home safely. Perhaps it's the fault of my parents themselves, who taught me to want it all but didn't follow it up with a lecture on what to do when you don't get it all. Maybe this is why I cried for days the first time I failed a test in college. It's self-efficacy and when you're an intrinsic person, you blame yourself and take responsibility for these so called mishaps and failures. Somewhere along the lines though, I became a bit extrinsic, blaming everything to the fault of luck followed by several moments of "things couldn't get any worse! And then the clouds opened up and God said, 'I hate you Steph Aponte'". I'm not sure what it will take to find my old self, the girl who laughed when things didn't go her way or who never stressed. That girl didn't flip out on Pittburgh Police Officers and spend the worst night of her life in a holding cell with two heroine addicts who in a building full of people she would have previously respected and admired found herself at a level closer to the jailbirds. I wasn't quite at the level to actually partake in the brown bag breakfast they supplied of milk and apple slices; It seemed more than obvious to me that I clearly didn't belong there when I was the only one not moaning in pain and begging for detox medication. But if I have ever in my life had an epiphany, I had one at the moment, realizing that the little mishaps turn into real life nightmares when you let them.
For now, I'll just enjoy the company of the sweet Italian sitting next to me, considering that my time to enjoy this moment is rapidly ticking away and especially because for this one moment, the last thing I want is to be told that it's over.
-Stephanie
Anyways, no sense whining about the missed opportunity of a second good meal. If complaining were to again be the purpose of my #unknown rant I'd much rather complain about a separate series of unfortunate events, like perhaps 12 hours of academy award winning drug seekers and ill-mannered coughers spewing their symptomatic germs all over my counter space while I can't even enjoy a half hour lunch break. Or maybe the drive back form South Carolina that took an extra 4 1/2 hours because, well, because the horse and buggy system my boyfriend currently bitches about in the Amish town where he resides doesn't always seem that terrible of an alternative in comparison to leaking breaklines.
I'm not exactly sure whether everything happens to me or just appears to happen to me, but even my bunny expectations have fallen through the cracks of my hopeful fingers. All I wanted was to fill those cracks with the warm fuzziness of a furry friend whose utter cuteness would make me "oooooo" and "awwwwwe" like most people do at the sight of a new born baby where as I'd much rather prefer the company of friend who I can buy (or in this case simply take) rather than incubate for nine months and then force out of a part of my body that should never be forced to expand that large. It's gross, I know.
Point is, my expectations lately have been much too high, with the exception of my cake however, a cake that took 25 years to finally be taught to make by my reluctant mother. No, she's not a greedy hoarder of cake recipes, but it has taken being away for months at a time for her to show the nurture side of herself. (she's a softie with a tough exterior, wonder where I get it from).
The thing is, at some point you have to wonder why things fall apart and why these tiny little mishaps carry so much more weight in my head than the successes, like my cake, or the fact that even almost five hours behind schedule, we still made it home safely. Perhaps it's the fault of my parents themselves, who taught me to want it all but didn't follow it up with a lecture on what to do when you don't get it all. Maybe this is why I cried for days the first time I failed a test in college. It's self-efficacy and when you're an intrinsic person, you blame yourself and take responsibility for these so called mishaps and failures. Somewhere along the lines though, I became a bit extrinsic, blaming everything to the fault of luck followed by several moments of "things couldn't get any worse! And then the clouds opened up and God said, 'I hate you Steph Aponte'". I'm not sure what it will take to find my old self, the girl who laughed when things didn't go her way or who never stressed. That girl didn't flip out on Pittburgh Police Officers and spend the worst night of her life in a holding cell with two heroine addicts who in a building full of people she would have previously respected and admired found herself at a level closer to the jailbirds. I wasn't quite at the level to actually partake in the brown bag breakfast they supplied of milk and apple slices; It seemed more than obvious to me that I clearly didn't belong there when I was the only one not moaning in pain and begging for detox medication. But if I have ever in my life had an epiphany, I had one at the moment, realizing that the little mishaps turn into real life nightmares when you let them.
For now, I'll just enjoy the company of the sweet Italian sitting next to me, considering that my time to enjoy this moment is rapidly ticking away and especially because for this one moment, the last thing I want is to be told that it's over.
-Stephanie
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