The culprit, it turned out, was my Vyvanse.  My dentist assured me [...]]]> About six months ago I wrote here and at AddaptAbilities about a very nasty shock I received at the dentist: a whopping SEVEN $#%^&@ING CAVITIES.  Twice as many cavities as I’d had in my adult life thus far.  All of them between my teeth.

The culprit, it turned out, was my Vyvanse.  My dentist assured me that he’d seen this kind of thing before, due to all types of medication, and if I followed his instructions — floss EVERY night, use a prescription-strength high-fluoride toothpaste, and chew high-strength xylitol gum and mints — my teeth would be fine.

And they are!  YAY!

Adults with ADD are notorious for hanging onto clutter.  We’ve being scolded our whole lives for loosing things through our carelessness.  If we never throw anything a way, we know it’s there … somewhere.  We might not be able to find it right now, [...]]]>

Oscar has no problem with trash -- he LOVES trash!

Adults with ADD are notorious for hanging onto clutter.  We’ve being scolded our whole lives for loosing things through our carelessness.  If we never throw anything a way, we know it’s there … somewhere.  We might not be able to find it right now, but we know we didn’t lose it!  It’s just misplaced, right?  We can find it here … somewhere … even if it takes eight hours to do it.

For years, that was my major motivation in hanging on to every little worthless piece of junk.  I didn’t know what was important, and I didn’t know when I might need it, so I might as well hang onto it.  My clutter was an allergy-inducing, frustrating eyesore, but there was security in it too.  The security that whatever it was, I probably had it around here … somewhere.

And so, the hardest part of my organizing journey was the purge — getting rid of things I didn’t need.

The “give away” category was bad enough.  Intellectually, I knew that I didn’t need the cheap set of cookware I’d bought in college, but emotionally, I was convinced that if I donated them, I’d be looking for them a month later.  But with the giveaway pile, I was able to reason with myself.  I could tell myself that I hadn’t used those things in years, and that someone else would be getting good use from them.  Giving them away was a good thing for everybody.

But putting items into the “trash” category, and then actually putting them in the actual trash — that was the worst.

Items that qualified as “trash” were pretty numerous.  “Trash” included anything that was broken.   “Trash” included anything that was missing a part, and  anything that was clearly a part to something else, but I didn’t know what.  “Trash” included anything that was too dirty to use.  “Trash” included leaking, duplicate, and triplicate cleaning supplies in various states of emptiness.

So into the trash went the four bottles of different types of eco-friendly household cleaner (I kept two bottles to have on hand).  Into the trash went the non-stick cook wear that was scratched and peeling. Likewise all those coffee mugs with broken handles, that I’d been meaning to glue together for years. Then there were the cheap plastic bowls and plates and silverware that I’d inherited in college from graduating seniors, all of which was stained or cracked or even melted.

Even though these items were useless, it was hard for me to toss them.  I felt like I should be able to “come up with a use” for them.  Many of the items couldn’t even be recycled, and I felt guilty about having so much garbage.  I didn’t want to be another greedy, wasteful American, my home bursting at the seams with unused purchases that were destined for overflowing landfills.

Fortunately, I had my clutter buddy.  This was an area where really be a realty check.   She reassured me it was OK to throw things out when they’re broken and useless.  She pointed out holding onto my worthless junk would in no way solve our collective cultural problems with waste.  Most importantly, she explained that by throwing away all that garbage, I’d be able to keep better track of what I owned.  I would buy fewer things overall, and therefore I would be less wasteful overall.

We ended our day by taking several trips to the curb with my garbage.  Then we hit Goodwill with several bags full of donations.  I felt bruised.  I felt embarrassed about the years worth of junk we had found in my kitchen — in the place where I prepared and served food.  I felt guilty about the waste I had generated.  And I felt bereft, too; bereft of the items I was giving up, however useless, because of the security they represented to me.

This time was the scariest part in my organizing process.  Not only had I just undergone a Great Purge, but I would have to wait another week before really putting my kitchen back together.  Since no other part in my home was organized, it was necessary to designate an area on the kitchen floor for items that would ultimately belong in the kitchen, but wouldn’t have a “home” there until we’d organized more than the food prep area. This pile would be kept off to the side of the dining area so nothing would get stepped on.  I was terrified that it would wind up staying there forever.  But I took a deep breath, scheduled a decluttering session with my buddy for the following week, and turned to the next step in the process: the Sorting.

Entryway Maintenance [...]]]> When I went to containerize my entryway last week, I noticed that things had slipped a bit. To the right of the front door, there was packing paper spilling out of the recycling bin, and my bike was still in the back corner because I hadn’t gotten around to selling it yet:

Entryway Maintenance is slipping a bit

To the left of the front door, there was a huge pile of cardboard on the floor from various mail orders. This is an ongoing problem with our entryway. We get a fair number of deliveries, and we never get around to breaking down the boxes and recycling them. Recycling gets taken out once a week, and since we usually forget to deal with it until the last minute, we inevitably forget to deal with the boxes. They can pile up for months, tucked in the corner where they soon become invisible.

Cardboard Fail

I got two containers to try as day pack solutions last week. The wider, shallower of the two was perfect for the packs. Since I still had the other one, I decided to try it as a “home” for cardboard boxes to be recycled. When we get a package, the box is broken down immediately and put in its new “home”.

So far, I’ve been pretty good about this; but M has been out of town since we implemented this system. He gets back tonight. We’ll see how it holds up with both of us here.

Well, my perfectionism was not in vain, because I won the contest!  Yay!  You can check out my lens here.

However, heading outside can be also [...]]]> A lot of people with ADHD find that they love being outside.  Personally, I feel like my ADD vanishes the minute I leave civilization.  I’m usually the first one to spot wildlife, catch birdsong, or to notice a change in the weather.  Maybe there’s something to that whole Hunter/Farmer thing.

However, heading outside can be also be intimidating if you have ADD.  We forget things a lot, and when we’re packing to go out into the wilderness, that can be a scary prospect.  If you’re traveling to Paris and you forget your water bottle, you can buy another one.  If you’re traveling the John Muir Trail and you forget your water bottle, you might be toast.

Well, my buddy Deb Lauman, aka Ramkitten, has just the thing for you.

Ramkitten befriended me when I was brand-new to the communities over at Squidoo.com and Tagfoot.com.  It turned out she’s an avid hiker (as serious as I would like to be, but am not) and had recently visited my favorite place on earth, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.  She’s also a Search And Rescue volunteer.

Her SAR work made her realize how many rescue situations could be prevented if people set out with the proper equipment.  This led her to invent the 24-Hour Pack.  It’s a day pack that comes pre-packed with all the supplies to get you through a night in the wilderness if you find yourself unexpectedly stranded.

The keyword there is “unexpected”.  Nobody Ramkitten has ever rescued expected to be lost, hypothermic, dehydrated — or, in the most tragic cases, dead.   Fortunately, many of her missions end happily.  Deb blogs here about why she never feels silly carrying her 24-Hour Pack, even when she’s only expecting to be gone for a 20 minute walk.

I’ve got to admit, I’m not always as cautious as I should be, and I know better.   I’m an experienced backwoods canoe camper.  I’ve been a wilderness guide and a Girl Scout leader.  But I still take chances I shouldn’t.  Let’s be real; I have ADD.  I’m impulsive.  When I’m outside, I hate to sit still … which means I’m constantly fighting the inclination to head out farther and in worse weather than I really should.

Ramkitten’s writing has gotten me thinking deeply about the precautions I need to take next time I head out on a hike, even if it’s just up crowded Mt. Tam.  If you’re an ADHD hiker you should check out the following:

Hikers: Common Mistakes to Avoid If you think you know everything about hiking, you don’t.

The 24 Hour Pack: Hike Smart, Be Prepared, Be Safe If you’ve already got a day pack or three, read this article about what to put in it to make your own 24 Hour Pack.

The PRE-Pack: A Pre-Equipped Day Pack for Hikers New to hiking?  Lost your gear in a flash flood?  Let Deb do the work for you.  And remember to read Common Mistakes To Avoid before you head out!