I am standing in the orange juice section at Wal-Mart, I marvel at the choices, my head bouncing like a ping pong ball as I consider the possibilities. Milk gallon containers, clear plastic containers, the simple side pour carton, the front pour carton, the pulp free, the extra pulp, the medium pulp, the tangerine juice creeping into my peripheral vision...WAIT...stop...hold the presses...I forgot my Adderall.
I give up on my quest to find the same orange juice that I've bought for the last five or six years, and I head to the front of the store, "Iced coffee and take your Adderall, iced coffee and take your Adderall," I repeat over and over in my head. I buy a Starbucks can of something coffee based and cold, and I drain it with my pill. Then I get a new cart, the whereabouts of my last one, an unknown story. I walk slowly back toward the orange juice, this time embracing the crazy. I let myself be sidetracked by every shiny object, waiting, giving the medicine time to kick in. I wander from Holiday sweaters, to bras, to coffee, careful to not put anything in my cart. Finally, I reach the orange juice, and with confidence pick up the right bottle, never second guessing myself.
I move from aisle to aisle, picking up my groceries in a precise order. My phone rings. I stop and answer, "Hey Baby. Where are you?" implores Jeff through the phone. "Wal-Mart," I reply. I can sense the careful thought put into the words to come, over the phone line, as if they are tangible. "I didn't realize you were going straight to the store. Your medicine is here."
I smile, "I had an Adderall with me, and I already took it. No worries." The palpable tension evaporates, I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, "Great! Love you. See you when you get here."
For most people, Wal-Mart is sensory overload, for someone like me, the ADD in full force, Wal-Mart is potentially hazardous to both our bank account and my mental health. For those of you who didn't know, the ADD is a newish set of letters that trail behind all the other acronyms used to describe me, GAD, MDD, GERD, OCD, CFS, etc. My children have it down to the bare bones, "Mom is crazy," they say. If only they knew how right they are sometimes...and all it takes to humble me is a simple bottle of orange juice...no pulp.
Musings from the Big Pink: Dead at 25
1 day ago