I have a foul mouth. Along with avoiding cheese and keeping
my calorie intake under 2,000, it’s a daily struggle to keep the F word from
slipping past my lips. For example, I had just cleaned up the family room and
went to make myself a cup of tea in the Keurig, when I heard the gawd-awful
sound of Legos clattering onto the freshly swept hardwood. I collapsed
dramatically on the kitchen counter and facedown, screamed into the Formica abyss,
“ARE YOU F%#$-ING KIDDING ME?!”
See? It’s a struggle. You must sympathize with me over the
Legos. But here’s the thing: maybe it’s not that big of a deal. The swearing, I
mean. You don’t have to worry about clapping your hands over your children’s ears,
I can read a room. While at times I find it to be completely vulgar,
inappropriate, and unnecessary, at other times, depending on the situation, a
carefully curated curse word can evoke hilarious and completely relatable
reactions from friends, family and bystanders. But most importantly, when
needing to release some pent up emotional steam, it is oh-so-satisfying.
Contemplating the whys and wherefores of my penchant for
uttering obscenities led me to think about other negative aspects of my
persona.
I’ve been a card-carrying member of the ADD (Attention
Deficit Disorder) club since 5th grade. I used to take medication
for it when I was in school. But I’ve learned to deal with it as an adult, I
guess. I get easily distracted and it’s very hard for me to stay on task
sometimes. And, if I’m not super interested in a subject, my ability to
zone-out mid-conversation is prize-winning. I suppose it could be considered just
a quirky personality trait.
The only time I was truly embarrassed about my ADD was in 8th
grade. It was during band class, and I was frolicking about in my own little
world when I should have been paying attention. Suddenly, our band director’s
voice pierced through the fog, “ELLEN, DID YOU TAKE YOUR MEDICINE TODAY?!” I
was so humiliated. I remember shooting my best friend a desperate look. I was
half embarrassed and half terror-stricken that if my mother heard about this,
she would literally rip my band director limb from limb. I didn’t tell my mom
until adulthood. Her response was pretty much what I had expected. I did have
to remind her that the band director in question wasn’t employed at that school
anymore, and I didn’t know her forwarding address. And no, she couldn’t be
fired for something that occurred in 2002.
No one talks about the positives of having ADD. I’m
creative. Ideas come to me in a flash. I can start a conversation with just
about anyone. I also can completely zone out when my husband watches wrestling
or football and, choosing instead to read a complete novel. No interest =
nonexistent when it comes to ADD.
My therapist says I need to work on oversharing. But here’s
the other thing, I do keep things
close to the chest. It just depends on what the subject. My political and
social views are one thing I’m not too loud about. What’s the point? It just
feels like screaming into the void anymore. But I have views and I have
opinions. I have stomped for candidates, and I have donated my time and money
to movements that I hold dear. But I don’t really share that stuff on social
media. It only causes strife and pointless argument. And I’d rather share an
on-point meme anyway.
I feel there are positive aspects to almost everything. I
worry that I’m being too loud or overcompensating with humor. But I also could
be breaking some invisible wall of tension for someone. I zone out to a clinical
degree. On the up side, perhaps I’ll miss someone saying something offensive
that would make me fume and obsess and stick with me for days? I swear too
much. This could also be read as I speak with passion. I might make someone
laugh. See? Silver linings.
Sometimes I feel like I’m performing. When meeting new
people, I often overcompensate with humor and self-deprecation. It is
impossible for me to be act coy or act stoic upon first introductions. Instead,
I perform like I’m auditioning for SNL or filling in for Ellen (the famous one)
on her day off. My only saving grace is that I don’t employ props. I hate props
– unless you find yourself in need of a dirty joke as you’re picking out your
produce, then I’m your girl. But here’s the thing, it’s automatic. I cannot
help myself. When I’m completely extra during conversation, I’m just being
myself. So what’s the point of giving a flying f . . . ing poop? If I make someone
laugh and brighten their day, that’s awesome. If people think I’m loud and
annoying? #*&! ‘em!