Five Minutes

Some people do their laundry.

And then there are the rest of us.

For me, laundry usually starts the day I realize I've run out of socks.

Or underwear.

Ideally both at the same time, so the situation receives the level of seriousness it deserves.

I hate doing laundry.

Not because it's difficult.

Not because it takes a long time.

But because laundry is never just one task.

First you collect the clothes.

Then you wash them.

Then you take them out of the machine.

Then you dry them.

Then you put them away.

The problem is that somewhere after step two, the whole project develops a life of its own.

I usually do one load a month.

Two at most.

Three if it's bedding month.

Once the washing is finished, it may sit in the machine for a while. Sometimes it has to be washed again.

Occasionally a third time.

Not because the washing machine is bad.

Because I forgot it existed.

It's also not unusual for the drying rack to become my wardrobe.

Why put the socks in a drawer when they're already hanging exactly where I need them?

I simply take the pair I'm going to wear.

Done.

I'm officially wearing socks.

There is, however, one habit I wouldn't recommend.

I have a tendency to throw my dirty clothes straight into the washing machine before taking a shower.

It feels like a brilliant idea for about four seconds.

Then they spend the next three to five weeks sitting in a slightly damp drum.

I know it's a bad idea.

I know it while I'm doing it.

I know it the next time as well.

And somehow, it still happens again.

The result is that the clothes need washing several times, while the washing machine develops an aroma that probably won't be released as a fabric softener anytime soon.

This is perhaps the most frustrating part of living with ADHD.

It rarely comes down to not knowing the right thing to do.

You know.

All the time.

It's just that your brain chooses the easiest option right now and quietly sends the bill to your future self.

Laundry is only the beginning.

Dishes deserve an article of their own.

As for vacuuming, I've more or less retired from it.

Not because I dislike clean floors.

But because the sound of a vacuum cleaner feels as though one of the Seven Dwarfs has decided to drill directly into my skull.

The same goes for lawn mowers.

Angle grinders.

Mitre saws.

I can use them.

I just need regular breaks because my brain eventually decides it's had enough of the noise.

That's why I own a small broom.

It doesn't make any noise.

It doesn't ask questions.

It simply does its job.

Then there's the rubbish.

Please don't make me talk about recycling.

And cooking.

Cooking deserves an article of its own as well.

The fascinating thing is that these are often the same people who can plan an expedition across a continent, launch a magazine, write hundreds of pages, or disappear into a project for hours.

It's not that we're bad at getting things done.

We're bad at the things everyone else takes for granted.

From the outside, it can look like laziness.

From the inside, it feels more like facing a thousand tiny doorsteps.

And when you have to climb over every one of those little thresholds every single day, you get tired.

That's probably what I wish more people understood about ADHD.

It's not that we don't know what needs doing.

It's not that we don't care.

Sometimes the distance between thinking about something and actually doing it is much longer than it appears from the outside.

When someone says,

"It only takes five minutes."

They're absolutely right.

On the clock.

Just not necessarily inside my head.

And if you ever come to my apartment and discover that the drying rack has become my wardrobe, the little broom has replaced the vacuum cleaner, and the washing machine smells like an unusually ambitious blue cheese...

...that doesn't necessarily mean I didn't try.

It just means I have ADHD.

And I was probably out of underwear.