Why can I go to bed at 1:30 a.m. on a work night and have to force myself out of bed at 8:45, but if I go to bed at 3 a.m. on a Friday night, my eyes pop open at 8 a.m. on Saturday like “Let’s go!” Apparently my body revolts against business hours.
I actually enjoy waking up early. There’s something about the quiet time as the world is also waking up around me. Don’t mistake that for me being a “morning person” because I am anything but. Seriously, don’t even speak to me until I’ve had a smoke and that first sip of coffee. Well, unless you’re cute and it comes with an, “I’ll start the coffee,” and a kiss 😘
It’s those early weekend hours when I say to myself, “Ooo, I have time to get so much done!” Then before I know it, I’m two coffees, half a pack of smokes, and three rabbit holes deep at noon and I’ve done absolutely nothing.
Is that ADHD? Because it sure feels like ADHD. Especially after I’ve done nothing all day then at 9 p.m. I wander into the kitchen, rinse out one dish, and suddenly I’m rearranging the cupboards or baking scones from scratch like I’m auditioning for HGTV or Food Network.
And, yes, I’ll stay there until it’s done, even if that means I’m only getting three hours of sleep. Or, the other route… I start, get overwhelmed by something as simple as there being an orphaned storage container lid, throw my hands up, and declare I’m done. Then I feel like it’s side-eyeing me for the next three weeks saying, “see, you never finish anything.”
If you know, you know.
That’s why when I meet someone who’s like me, who gets locked in where you can’t afford to look away for even a second or you’ll never get back into it, I get it. I don’t mind if they don’t text me right back or say they’re going to be late for plans. Even if my old abandonment and, “not good enough,” fears try to kick in (how rude of them 🙄), I can shove them aside long enough to respect the zone.
Part of me wants to get diagnosed to stop the noise (which, good luck, because apparently adult diagnosis is harder than landing a job on Wall Street), but part of me doesn’t want to lose the chaos. The chaos is when I’m the most alive and I’m not sure I’d even know who I was without it. I love me even if I make myself crazy.
Besides, if I become “normal,” who’s going to randomly organize the spice rack then make cinnamon sugar donuts at 2 a.m.?
Caffeinated Chaos 
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