Daydreaming, I've always accelled at it. I consider it a hobby of mine. Sure, I don't have a large collection of anything to show for it, no amount of accumulation like you might garner collecting stamps or building ships in bottles, but it's something I do to pass the time. I always thought it was a sign of strong mental health, to be able to relax completely, disengage from reality for a few brief moments, to sit alone in a quite room without reliance on technology, the internet or television, music or even books to occupy myself. So maybe it's gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion; someone thinks I'm staring at them, or I must embarassingly ask someone to repeat themselves, or perhaps giving a delayed response, the question taking a moment longer to penetrate my reverie. Never once did I think this idle pleasure-seeking might be a symptom of a greater affliction, of clinical neurological dyfuncion. But this is exactly what the pharmacutical industry would have me (and especially my parents) believe. This disease does not necesarrily fade away with adolesence as previously thought.
My father and I were enjoying some platonic masculine affection at the illustrious Safeco Field on Memorial Day, watching the Seattle Mariners defeat those rowdy Canucks, the Toronto Blue Jays, when my father produced from his pocket a newspaper clipping. The aritcle told of a new wave of diagnoses of Attention Deficit Disorder occurring amoung adults. Appearantly the disorder is genetically correlative; parents bringing their children in to be diagnosed would find they too were afflicted. The article continues, illustrating Adult ADD with a personal account of a young woman (26) overcoming her disease with a regemine of amphetamines and counseling, going from underachieving artist slacker to successful graphics designer with a career in advertising.
Of course my father followed up this heartwarming story with his own anecdotal evidence about our neighbor who suddenly made great leaps in personal and occupational well-being with the help of pharmacutial speed.
Natrually this segued into an inquiry: Do these symptoms sound familiar, son? Would you be interested in being tested?
My initial reaction was, No, of course not. What, are you fucking kidding me? There's nothing wrong with my brain. ADD was invented by pharmacutical companies to sell pills to distraught parents who live vicariously through their children's successes.
My father folded the clipping, gave it to me, and told me to think it over.
