#getting stuff done

[actuallyadhd]

If I'm aware I have ADHD, shouldn't I be able to handle it? I haven't gotten diagnosed yet, but my father has it and has agreed that I probably also have it

I'm sitting here, having told myself an hour and a half ago that I have 2 hours to complete my work. The hour and a half has passed, but I have made no progress

I'm aware my brain works like this, so why can't I just do what I need to do. I'm aware of it, so I should be able to just get the work done, right?

Sent November 22, 2023

You’re making a pretty common error. A lot of people assume that ADHD is simply a matter of will power. If we want to do the thing badly enough, we will.

That’s simply not true.

Executive dysfunction can affect us in many different ways, and being stuck is one of those ways. Even with medication these things are often really hard.

We have lots of different suggestions for getting yourself to do stuff, but if anyone needs specific help I’m going to try and check my inbox regularly so I can give better, more timely advice moving forward.

-J

[karalianne]

I've said before that the house is at near-hoarder levels. Technically it's a level 3 hoard.

Here's the thing I've recently realized about that.

I'm not a hoarder. But I married one.

Now, I am an ADHD packrat, which doesn't help matters, and I struggle with consistency and whatnot as a result. But I am able to decide to get rid of things that are broken or unusable and so on. J, on the other hand, is not. And not only am I expected to keep his stuff, "his stuff" apparently includes things that he never uses but that I do use and have stopped working properly. If I try to get rid of those things, I am a horrible person. Yet also the house is a disaster and he can't find anything because it's never cleaned up. (Ask me how my day goes when it begins with him upset about not being able to find his crap and complaining about the mess.)

Recognizing this gives me power.

It's still overwhelming and I'm still not fully sure where to start on any given day, but I do know that I want to just start packing things into bins and boxes, like with like, and then labelling those containers with the contents and the date. It will be easier to store if it's boxed up, and then if we need something that's packed up we'll be able to find it and then we can give it a permanent home outside of the box. And in a year, we can go through the boxes and see if we can let things go that we haven't even looked for in the past year. With no pressure to actually let anything go, because it's contained in labelled boxes and we can find stuff when we need it. And then a year later, we can go through what's still there. Eventually it will all have a proper home or be released from our house.

I know that J has this problem because he grew up so poor, and I have compassion for that trauma. Extended childhood trauma is a bitch. So I don't want to force anything, and I don't want him to resent me for making him get rid of things. I think this approach will be gentle enough for him to be okay with it, and I'm hopeful that it will be easier to make actual progress if I'm really just sorting things into boxes and labelling the boxes.

And then I just have to figure out how to help him stop dumping things in piles so he can actually find them later. If anyone has any ideas for that one, please let me know. I want to get this house tidy and clean and organized and comfortable and so on, but I really do need to do it in a way that respects his trauma responses.

[labelleizzy]

Sometimes I just have to go back to old habits. Like back in the day, I was getting daily emails from the website Flylady.net.

Got my shoes on. Got my kitchen timer on. Challenged myself to see how much better I could make the kitchen look in 10 minutes.

I cleared the kitchen island. Put away all the food, got all the dirty dishes into the sink. Started a load of laundry. Made up my third cup of coffee. Washed out some recycling and got it to the bin. Oh, now I can see the acetaminophen which I need to take today.

Do I still have a big mess? Yes I do. I came home from 2-week trip, and I'm still finding stuff I need to put away and laundry I need to do.

But my ADHD ass developed the self-care habits, routines, tips and tricks, originally in the late '90s due to this nice southern lady. She used to send out daily emails encouraging us to take care of ourselves and giving us ideas on how to tackle big home care projects, self-care projects, but mostly home care.

It was a lot of email. And not being Christian, I didn't always appreciate her dropping of God references. But without her structure, without her having figured out that there was tons of us out there, struggling with our lives and managing our shit...

She helped me a lot. The chaos is mostly controlled. (She used to backronym CHAOS as "Can't Have Anybody Over Syndrome" heh)

I'm no longer ashamed of my habitat (and also, thank you, @unfuckyourhabitat for continuing the momentum of this particular way of working).

Gonna finish my coffee ☕ and then set the timer for another 10 minutes. Got a friend coming over for dinner 🍽️ and I can stand to do a bit more tidying up.

Use the tools that work for you!

[the--last-great-american-dynasty]

🌿🪷🌱🌷🍀 heyyy i’m elise! 🍀🌷🌱🪷🌿

🌿🪷🌱 she/they • lesbian • twenty 🌱🪷🌿

stranger things

supernatural

the rookie

9-1-1

dead boy detectives

percy jackson

atla

arcane

bridgerton

heartstopper

lord of the rings

pride and prejudice

six of crows

marvel

i read copious amounts of fantasy, romance, and fanfiction. i am first and foremost a hater and secondly a hopeless romantic. i’m a nursing student who’s best skill is procrastination. i don’t get nearly enough sleep or exercise and drink way too much coffee. i’m just figuring shit out as i go, so don’t ever think i’m a functioning adult. if you’re mean i’m probably just gonna ignore and block you because i don’t have time for that. i’m a whore in spirit and a hermit in practice. i would love to be friends, just know that i’m scatterbrained and adhd and may forget to message you back. if you’re my moot, just know that i’ve adopted you as my child, even if you’re older than me. ok, love youuuuuu <3

🌿🪷🌱 if i had to pick between DNA & RNA,

i'd pick RNA because it has U in it 🌱🪷🌿

[emgoesmed]

12/4/2023

Running a bunch of errands today, being productive and feeling good 😊

[soniabigcheese]

Well ... I'm slowly going through the house,tidying up everywhere, in anticipation for the new dining suite and bookcase, which will free up a lot of surfaces.

I've also nailed a few photo frames in the hallway I have far too many

Next task?

I'll be touching up paintwork

There are a few patches of bare plaster from the rewiring that was done 6 years ago

[sadgirlclub666]

Have to run around doing errands. So boring! 😫

[allsassnoclass]

congrats on reaching your milestone!!! for a fic prompt, what about "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear" with muke (maybe vigilante/reporter muke if you're up for it? 👀) -megs 💙

@igarbagecannoteven alrighty, here we go! sequel to this prompt!

muke (vigilante/reporter verse): things you said that I wasn't meant to hear

When Luke wakes up, he can’t form any coherent thoughts.  Everything processes in overwhelming, too-big sensations: the throbbing in his temples, the press of something soft and giving underneath him, the sharp taste of bile in the back of his throat, the low tones of a voice speaking.  All of it vies for attention in a chaotic jumble that makes each sensation worse.  He frowns, but that emphasizes the pain in his temples.  He tries to keep his face smooth and relaxed, breathing slowly through his nose until the sensation passes.

The voice is familiar enough that he isn’t alarmed.  He can’t process any words, but he recognizes something in the tone or cadence that puts him at ease.  Whatever he’s laying on isn’t as comfortable as a bed, but it’s still soft and plush, and there’s something soft and heavy draped over him.

A blanket.  Someone has tucked him in, perhaps the person speaking?

“...a favor,” the voice is saying.  Luke can’t place where he’s heard it before in the pause that follows.

“He owes me after last time,” the voice says.  “We need to take these guys down, I don’t care how.”

There’s an edge to it that sounds wrong.  The hairs on Luke’s arms stand on end, and he frowns and sends another ripple of pain through his head and down his spinal cord before he remembers not to.  His fingers twitch involuntarily, everything feeling brittle enough to snap.

“...can’t do that,” the voice is saying when Luke’s head stops feeling like it’s stabbing itself.  “No, Calum!  This isn’t up for debate!”

Calum?  Luke doesn’t think he knows any Calums.  It’s not an overly common name, but it–like the voice–feels familiar in a way.

Luke loses a few words trying to muddle through who the voice is talking to.

“...kill him is because he’s just a harmless reporter.  He does fluff pieces and doesn’t actually know anything.  No one looks at Luke Hemmings and thinks he has enough information to be worth taking down.”

Luke feels like his lungs are being stabbed along with his head, and he can’t help the pained noise that escapes him.

The voice says something else, and then there’s a gentle pressure on Luke’s arm.  He tries to pull away, but he’s trapped under the blanket and against the back of the couch.

“Luke, it’s okay,” the voice says, pitched a little lower.  “You’re safe.  You’re in your apartment.  No one is going to hurt you.”

Luke tries to move, sending another wave of pain traveling from his temples down his neck.  He clenches his fists, not realizing that he’s making more noise until it gets cut off by a wave of nausea rolling up his throat.

“Oh fuck,” the voice says as Luke heaves, tipped to the side with the help of the hand rubbing easy but excruciating circles on his back.  “We’ll–I’ll clean that up.  Don’t worry about it.  Here, drink this.”

“I just threw up,” Luke says, words coming out garbled and throat burning.  Every part of his upper body hurts, either aching or burning or stabbing, and the last thing he wants to do is vomit again because some idiot is trying to make him drink something.

“I know, I know,” the voice says.  “But it has the antidote to the neurotoxin you were exposed to.  I gave you a nasal spray, but it’s better ingested orally.”

None of this makes sense, but a gloved hand slides behind his neck before he can protest, tipping his head up.  He opens his mouth and swallows the liquid poured in under the voice’s gentle coaxing.  It tastes gross, but it’s cool and soothing.  He doesn’t immediately vomit it up, which is a good sign.

“There,” the voice says.  He sounds really familiar.  Luke can barely remember his own name right now, and he definitely has no clue how he ended up exposed to a fucking neurotoxin, but why can’t he place this voice?  It’s not one of his brothers, Ryan, or Sammy, which exhausts his list of close friends, but which friendly acquaintance could it be?

Luke gets flashes of a bright, glittering chandelier and a dark suit.  He chases the memory, finding the twist of a smile and an anchor tattooed on someone’s thumb, but nothing else.

“I’m going to clean this up, okay?” the voice says.  “You just rest.  It’ll take a bit for the antidote to really work, but the fact that you woke up is good.  Try to wiggle your fingers a bit.  I’ll be right back.”

Luke makes a questioning noise, but a creak tells him that the voice is moving away.  He takes a deep breath and waits for everything to stop hurting quite so much.

Luke doesn’t attempt to open his eyes until the stabbing dulls to a throbbing.  He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually everything levels out and he can move his fingers without feeling like they’re burning or the blanket covering him is actually full of needles.  He cracks his eyes open a sliver and the light doesn’t burn, so he blinks a few times and lets his eyes adjust before he opens them fully.

He’s in his apartment, on the couch in the living room with his favorite blanket covering him.  The overhead light is off, but the side lamp is on, casting everything in a gentle golden glow.  It’s dark outside, but he doesn’t have a clock in the living room and can’t see the one on the microwave from here to determine the time.

Where is his phone?

“Hey, how are you feeling?” the voice asks.  Luke turns his head and sees–

The vigilante.

He doesn’t know who he expected.  Of course that was the vigilante’s voice he heard earlier.  Of course he has some sort of antidote to some sort of neurotoxin that Luke was somehow exposed to.  Who else would be able to get into his apartment to take care of him?

But for a second, Luke had thought…

No.  He’s confused.  It must be a side effect of whatever is making his head hurt.

“Luke?” the vigilante asks.  Luke thinks his brow might be furrowed in concern, but he can’t tell with the hood and the mask.  “Are you okay?  Here, have some water.”

He helps Luke sit up and tips a cup against his lips.  The water feels better than the antidote did, and the vigilante supports his back and steadies his hands, helping him lay propped up against the armrest afterwards.  It’s the closest they’ve been since they last saw each other on Luke’s balcony, a night that Luke can’t think about without feeling angry and embarrassed.

He clears his throat.

“What happened?” he asks, glad that his voice doesn’t scrape.  The vigilante frowns.

“How much do you remember?” he asks.  Luke tries to peel back the pain shrouding his memories like a cloak, but nothing about it makes sense.

“I think I remember having dinner?” he offers.  He was watching the news during it, covering the disruption over in England.  The vigilante’s jaw clenches.

“You went snooping around Hardingson Tech.”

Luke fixes him with a flat look.

“I’m a journalist.  You told me to look into it.”

“And then I told you not to sneak around!” the vigilante yells.  Luke winces and the vigilante takes a shuddering breath, pushing back on his heels to stand and pace around the room.  “You’re lucky I was monitoring that area.  If I hadn’t–”

“You told me about it,” Luke accuses.  “You were the one who asked for information, and I wasn’t going to sit here with my thumb up my ass waiting for you to stop by again!  They’re up to something, and–”

“You could have died!”

“How was I supposed to know that a fucking tech company was going to poison me with a weird neurotoxin?” Luke yells, then winces and presses a hand against his forehead.  “Maybe if you had told me–”

Luke closes his mouth with a click, the words he overheard earlier ringing in his ears.

He’s just a harmless reporter.  He does fluff pieces and doesn’t actually know anything.

“I know you think I’m an idiot, but the reason I don’t know things is because you won’t tell me.”

The vigilante huffs.

“Maybe if you didn’t throw yourself into things that don’t concern you–”

“You don’t get to decide what information I can and can’t have!” Luke says.  The vigilante reaches for him, but Luke slices his hand through the air, stopping him in his tracks.  “I’m a fucking adult, and despite what you think, I’m good at what I do.  I’m going to investigate if there’s something worth investigating.  You don’t get to ask for my help and then get mad when I follow through.”

“I told you it was dangerous!” the vigilante says.  Luke would roll his eyes if he didn’t think it would be excruciating.

“Either I’m good enough to work with you and you treat me like an equal, or you can stop asking me for favors and kissing me on my fucking balcony.  You can’t have it both ways.”

Luke regrets the words the second that he says them, headache flaring.  He knows that it’s pathetic, but the occasional visit from the vigilante is something that can make his whole week sometimes.  Yeah, he’s being super annoying and bitchy right now, but Luke doesn’t actually want him to leave forever.  He just doesn’t want to be treated like an idiot anymore.

“Luke, come on,” the vigilante sighs, shoulders slumping.

“I don’t even know your name,” Luke says, sounding much smaller than he means to.  “I just call you the vigilante in my head.  You swoop in, ask me for help, and then leave without giving me the courtesy of knowing anything.  Do you know how shitty that feels?”

The vigilante turns, bringing a hand up towards his head and then stopping it, patting his hood awkwardly instead.  It’s a move that Luke has seen him do a few times over the weeks.  He must usually run his hands through his hair when he’s stressed.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me,” the vigilante says eventually.  “Knowing things would make you dangerous, which makes you a threat.”

Luke purses his lips and looks at his ceiling.

“I’m already a threat.  I was getting into trouble long before you met me.  Don’t flatter yourself.”

He hears the vigilante sigh, but he doesn’t try to continue the conversation.  Luke doesn’t know if he’s mad or grateful for that.  He can’t take much more talking in circles, but it’d be nice if the vigilante made a fucking effort to treat him like a capable person with his own thoughts.  He’s not asking to be put on speed dial, just to be included.  Is it too much to want to be part of the team, rather than someone used and discarded every other week?

“Where’s my phone?” Luke asks flatly once the silence has truly become awkward.  He hears the vigilante shift, the body armor that he wears creaking slightly with the movement.

“In the kitchen in rice,” the vigilante says.  “It got wet.”

“Of course it did,” Luke grumbles.  Fuck his life.

“I’ll check on it.  Do you want something to eat?”

Luke lazily tips his head to face him, giving the vigilante the best glare he can with his headache.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You got poisoned today, but fuck me for trying to be nice,” the vigilante grumbles.  “I’m going to get a snack.  If your phone turns on and you call someone else to stay with you, I’ll fuck off.”

“I can take care of myself!” Luke repeats to the vigilante’s retreating back.

“Can’t hear you!” the vigilante calls.  “Snacks, Luke!”

Luke freezes.

“Snacks, Luke!” the vigilante says, but they’re in a spacious ballroom, Luke’s suit just slightly too tight around his shoulders.  The room is full of soft orchestral music and gentle chatter, but Luke spends most of the night listening to one person, hanging on every bad joke about the finger sandwiches and every tidbit of insider information on the city’s elite.  A high-pitched laugh echoes in his ears.

“Calum’s been my best friend since we were kids,” the vigilante says.  “He’s been helping me figure out how to navigate everything.  We both just want to do good, you know?”

Calum Hood.  Someone who has the money to fund a vigilante operation and all of the connections that growing up in a prominent and influential family allows him.  He wouldn’t be able to fight crime himself after the injury that ended his soccer career, but he could easily be involved.  And if he had a friend who wanted to dress up and climb around at night…

Last time, on the balcony, the vigilante asked about the gala.  He seemed really curious about whether Luke had met anyone interesting there.

Luke had even thought that the vigilante had green eyes that looked similar, just muted in the different light.

Holy shit.  Luke is an idiot.  It’s been staring him in the face this whole time.  Holy–

“Luke?  I hope you like pretzels, because that’s all I found in your cupboard.”

Luke blinks and looks up, past the hand offering him a bowl, and into the eyes of Michael Clifford.

[evilwriter-originals]

Finished a zine piece, polished up one story and submitted it, and am now working on another for an anthology!

[karalianne]

Accountability Post

I have a list. Let's see how we go.

First Triplet:

Charlie Cage

Dishwasher

Laundry

[bibixpgames]

I am once again working on things that I cannot show right away, why do I do this to myself. XD

It's writing here, video making over there, art of the characters I'm very excited to show more of over in this direction, even music making for projects that, you guessed it, aren't appearing right this moment, I'm just all over the place!

Hopefully things start coming together over this week and I'll have more to show concretely! :D

[mermaidgirl30]

Sundays are for cleaning and indulging in fanfics and video games 🩵 (I did not stay up till 1:30am playing Hogwarts Legacy lol)

[wordnerdworld]

Getting Stuff Done List (where I list the stuff I get done)

Booked my shuttle

Updated my account info

Did household laundry

Pulled out Fall/Halloween decor tubs

Put out Halloween clothes and towels

[eleanor-is-fine]

This approach also helps if (when) you need to ask for help, or advice, or an adjusted deadline.

Enhancements

Set up an hour with a buddy and each work through their list for two 20/10 cycles

Use a timer rather than trying to watch the clock. You can extend work time when the timer goes off or take a break earlier if you finish earlier but Take Those Breaks.

Take a good hard look at those items sitting in the Due Yesterday column and the Due Later columns. If there are tasks that really belong in a SOMEDAY column, make a different list or break it up into smaller steps. If they belong in a NEVER column, send a text or email to the person expecting it and say “sorry I just can’t” and move on.

You got this!

How to Handle Having TOO MUCH To Do

So let’s say you’re in the same boat I am (this is a running theme, have you noticed?) and you’ve just got, like, SO MUCH STUFF that HAS to get done YESTERDAY or you will DIE (or fail/get fired/mope). Everything needs to be done yesterday, you’re sick, and for whatever reason you are focusing on the least important stuff first. What to do!

Take a deep breath, because this is a boot camp in prioritization.

Make a 3 by 4 grid. Make it pretty big. The line above your top row goes like this: Due YESTERDAY - due TOMORROW - due LATER. Along the side, write: Takes 5 min - Takes 30 min - Takes hours - Takes DAYS.

Divide ALL your tasks into one of these squares, based on how much work you still have to do. A thank you note for a present you received two weeks ago? That takes 5 minutes and was due YESTERDAY. Put it in that square. A five page paper that’s due tomorrow? That takes an hour/hours, place it appropriately. Tomorrow’s speech you just need to rehearse? Half an hour, due TOMORROW. Do the same for ALL of your tasks

Your priority goes like this:

5 minutes due YESTERDAY

5 minutes due TOMORROW

Half-hour due YESTERDAY

Half-hour due TOMORROW

Hours due YESTERDAY

Hours due TOMORROW

5 minutes due LATER

Half-hour due LATER

Hours due LATER

DAYS due YESTERDAY

DAYS due TOMORROW

DAYS due LATER

At this point you just go down the list in each section. If something feels especially urgent, for whatever reason - a certain professor is hounding you, you’re especially worried about that speech, whatever - you can bump that up to the top of the entire list. However, going through the list like this is what I find most efficient.

Some people do like to save the 5 minute tasks for kind of a break between longer-running tasks. If that’s what you want to try, go for it! You’re the one studying here.

So that’s how to prioritize. Now, how to actually do shit? That’s where the 20/10 method comes in. It’s simple: do stuff like a stuff-doing FIEND for 20 minutes, then take a ten minute break and do whatever you want. Repeat ad infinitum. It’s how I’ve gotten through my to do list, concussed and everything.

You’ve got this. Get a drink and start - we can do our stuff together!

[overcaffeinated-aro]

ok not to be that guy but like. labor rights and working class rights can coexist with 24h services and late amenities. its certainly hard to do so without worker exploitation in this political and social environment, it’s not a conflict likely to resolve overnight. but 24h services are important and especially valuable to those of us that are disabled or are on a different circadian rhythm. in fact more professional, health, and government services should be available or at least possible to work on asynchronously (if applicable) during late or odd hours, while workers also get sufficient pay for their labor and proper consistent scheduling. this would be much easier on the workers with night schedules if the entire professional world didn’t grind to a halt at 5pmEST

[emerysn-writes]

I feel like that one trend from TT awhile back. ‘I’m me again, it feels like it’s been years.’ ❤️