Late. (Patreon)

Based on a true story. I wrote this back in 2017 and just found it on my computer. Figured I'd share to see if it resonates with any of you?

7:00 a.m. Alarm goes off. Roll over in bed and snooze it.

7:15 a.m. Snooze again.

7:30 a.m. Snooze again.

7:50 a.m. Grab my phone in a sleepy daze and open up Twitter. Then Reddit. Instagram. Back to Twitter. Lose track of time for over half an hour.

8:26 a.m. My phone starts buzzing and Mom’s photo pops up on my screen. I haven’t talked to her in a while and get a surge of guilt for not answering her last 3 texts. She worries about me when I fall off the grid. I pick it up to chat, planning on making the conversation short since now I'm running behind.

8:38 a.m. I finally look over at the clock. “Okay Mom, I have to go.” We talk for another ten minutes until I say “Okay, for real, I have to start getting ready.” We quickly exchange “I love you”s and hang up.

8:51 a.m. Hurrying, I throw on a gray top and grab my favorite pair of black leggings I’ve worn all week, just to notice that the small rip in the left thigh I’ve been ignoring has now turned into an un-ignorable all-out tear. Shit. I know I should throw them away, but I keep convincing myself I'll bust out my sewing kit and mend it someday. Where did I even put that kit? I feel like I saw it last on top of the fridge. I contemplate going to look for it, but shake my head suddenly. Focus, Dani.

8:53 a.m. I peel the leggings off and throw them back onto the floor. I start diving through a drawer looking for something, anything, to wear. I find some skinny jeans and check the label. 13. I’m a 13 now (I’d lost some weight), so I do a jiggle-dance while hopping into them. To my surprise, I’m able to button them, but my stomach uncomfortably folds over the top. I squat a couple times to see if that helps. Since I know I’ll be sitting all day with this waistband burning indentation wrinkles into my skin, I strip them off too. Fuck.

8:57 a.m. I hastily sift through dresser drawers, looking for something, anything, to wear that’s clean. Hell, I’ll settle for mostly clean. I find some gray leggings on the floor of my closet, which fit. I put them on, but quickly realize they’re the exact same shade of gray as my shirt. I let out a frustrated sigh.

8:59 a.m. I pull the shirt back over my head and put on a dark blue v-neck and my favorite light denim jacket. There. Fully clothed. Finally.

9:00 a.m. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. No time for breakfast.

9:03 a.m. One last look in the mirror. I realize with a groan that my v-neck is too sheer and you can see my bra straight through it. Whatever, I’ll just button my denim jacket. My fake nails have grown out a bit and I’m clumsily buttoning my way down, so slowly it’s causing me actual anxiety, just to find myself at the bottom with one extra button left over.

9:06 a.m. Exasperated, I undo all my work and redo all my buttons, throw on my boots and coat, and run out the door. My commute is a 10-minute walk, but if I power-walk I can get there in 8.

9:09 a.m. Lock my door and take a couple of steps, just to realize I forgot to take my ADHD meds. Phew, at least I remembered. Unlock the door, run back inside to take them, and leave again.

9:15 a.m. I make it a couple of blocks from my house, stick my hand in my coat pocket to check the time on my phone, and feel nothing but fuzzy liner. I cuss under my breath and turn around.

9:21 a.m. Sprint up the stairs of my apartment building, fumble my keys, and finally make it inside my apartment. I can’t find my phone. Of course I can’t find my phone. Fuck. FUCK.

9:34 a.m. I finally find it in the kitchen, on the counter next to the fridge. Grab it and sprint to work.

9:45 a.m. Arrive at work, sweaty and panting, looking like shit, pissed off at myself, and guiltily try to read my coworkers' expressions as I saunter over to my desk. I see two of them exchange looks and roll their eyes. Awesome. Now I get to try to focus on work while obsessively worrying that everyone is judging me.

I wish I could say this was just a bad day. But this is a frequent thing for me. ADHD makes life one chaotic sequence of frustrations and perceived failures after another. And people only see the end result; they have no interest in the “excuses” of what actually happened.