I get frequently asked.
“Oh simple!”, I reply, “In the morning, I first try to find my phone. When I eventually find it, I realise that I miss my glasses too.” After I little probing break I continue, “When I do find them, half an hour later, I can only wonder where I have put my glasses this time.”
At this juncture I may receive an understanding smile from my conversation partner, assuming to know the problem all to well. But also expecting, that my obvious exaggeration is my attempt on a joke. Sadly, it is not, but I do not correct, instead I continue, “There goes the first hour of the day, after that I would go shopping, if I could find my car keys that is, but alas, they are real good at hiding, and may well rob the next hour.”
By now my opposite is convinced that I am joking and rewards me with the smile that comes with the relive provided by this discovery. To late for correcting now, and so I continue, “Not a problem, as I am much better off having breakfast first.”
Should I stop here? or point out the small problem, that in order to make breakfast, I quite likely have to go shopping first. Nah, don’t push it, rather bring the story to and end. Too often I miss the cue to stop in time, not today. “By the time I have all these little critters together it is time for lunch anyway. The afternoon I then try to spend just as productive.” I conclude, this time indeed joking, even if only slightly, and join in the smile.
Since there was so little chance for understanding, we may as well have a some fun. Bittersweet.
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Quite sorry to hear the differents got between you, but being able to laugh at yourself is such a gift.
I met some married folks at a party over NYE and as soon as she started telling me about her husband, I guessed right away that he had ADHD. Apparently she got him an airtag/tile tracker for his keys, which he cursed. Apparently, when he stopped spending his entire morning looking around for his keys, his steps on his smartwatch started to go down everyday. Lol!
After trying everything to prevent losing stuff like my keys, the only solution was to have a routine and a special place for everything. When I put my keys down, they only go in the key place. When I look for them they are there 99% of the time. It works better when you live alone, but I’d trade that for a conversation partner. My partner and I had too many diagnosable neurodivergences between us to communicate effectively. It was a good 12 years though.
I know the problem all too well. But we have stuck together, for today at least, since over 30y. The inability to communicate, understand, be understood, is at the center of many dispares. Perhaps this is inevitable, afterall, aren’t we all allone, necessarily, everybody, always? But neurotypical people eagerly succumb to the illusion of mutual understanding. Like belivers sometimes imagine a bigger common conciousness. I would need hallucinogens to feel that.
On rereading I notice that my opening sentence contradicts much of what I rumble on afterwards. Oh, well, I leave that in your capable hands.
