the deficit

My concentration has been shot for at least two years now. I think it's been that long since I could settle in to program something and get into the coding zone-- a world where thought flows directly into working code without typing, syntax errors, or second-guessing data object representation. Without that focused mental state, I'm a fairly useless person. I wish I knew if it was just these odd open projects assigned to me where I'm not sure what to do or how to begin, or if a knock to my noggin finally scrambled my brain, or if I'm taking on things that are too difficult for me, or if I'm bored because I'm not interested.

Surely millions of people elsewhere around the world are not interested in their work, and yet manage to slog through it day after day.

I try to make rules for myself: stay focused for fifteen minutes. It works, once. Then I obsessively check new headlines, photos, Portland restaurant reviews, etc. Then I have an idea, research it, get distracted, follow the tangent, and repeat.

I want to be effective. I want to get things done. I want to be a good little worker at my wonderful, cush job. I wonder if this is the ADHD for which junior high ruffians are so medicated, or if it's just an alternative thought process that can be harnessed under control, or if it's just a (long) phase.

My goal this weekend is to spend more quiet alone time, working on one project so that I accomplish real work towards a finish. I've decided to attack my growing, ancient pile of tshirts to be recontructed. I put a hold on four books on the subject through the glorious Multnomah County Public Library website, and for the first time I decided to pay to have them delivered by mail to my house, instead of timing their pickup at my local library. The books are mostly for ideas and a push to start, since I am afraid to take the first step on many of my tshirts, for fear of ruining them beyond repair. Cotton knit is one of the most forgiving fabrics in the world, in terms of sewing mistakes, but I'm so scared of one false cut into my too-big Dark Knight shirt that I've had since I was 15 that I haven't gotten past simply undoing its seams.

Let the fear stop here, and my focus begin.