My attention span is abnormally minimal. In fact, let’s just say, if it was my wage I would be perpetually broke. If it was my dress, there would be plenty of naked hairy legs. If it was a response, it would be a: “?” or, “fuck, what?”. If it was a text, it would be a passive aggressive, “hmm”. And “hmmmmmmm”, if the aggression overpowered passivity. If it was an interior design, it would just be an unconventional lamp with a spiral base placed adjacent to a bland wooden cabinet. If it was a painting, it would be a distorted line drawn on a piece of paper priced ridiculously high, and people with plenty of moolah and charade for abstractness would go, “Wow! This is brilliant.”
“How is it brilliant?”
“I mean, just look at this thing.”
“I am looking at this thing; it’s just a distorted line.”
“Yes, it is. And isn’t that amazing?”
“You could compare it to your life. We all live jittery lives, full of challenges, but we must keep going regardless of the wobble. It’s the literal representation of your lifeline. I mean, look at your palm. No really. Look at it! Are those lines straight? No, they are not! They resemble this painting. This painter has just drawn inspirations from such minute places and things and has made a rather remarkable masterpiece. Don’t you think?”
“I think he has drawn a line without using a ruler and you have drawn inspirations out of a ludicrous piece of (f)art.”
I think I made a smart choice in my life and never got swayed by my friends and chose the career of a sports commentator, or an umpire, or a referee. Trust me, I would have been hired and fired the same day in front of a large group of insanely enthusiastic people.
“Oh My God! Brilliant Strike! But was that a foul?”
“Fuck! What was what? I missed it! Can we watch the replay?”
“Sir, please go home and watch it on your TV tomorrow.”
It’s the same reason why I can’t ever try my luck to be a magician either. I don’t think I could pay attention and retain the nitty-gritties of the backstage preparations. I wouldn’t know which sleeve has the pigeon and which sleeve has the glitters. I might end up sprinkling the pigeon and flying the glitters. A girl with bucktooth in the front row, wearing nerdy glasses would whisper in her friend’s ears, “I am not sure what he is trying to do, but he clearly sucks.” So then, I would call her on stage as the participant for my next trick. The karma would play its fine role and I would forget to insert the divider in the cabinet between her and the saw blade. It would actually decapitate her in two equal parts. Head and torso in two different casket resembling boxes. Blood all over the stage, chunks of her gut flying in the air, audience clapping with joy, I mean, come on, that’s not magic. Is it? That’s just the gory snippets of Game of Thrones in real life. What’s next in the act, Houdini? A dwarf who drinks endlessly and knows things, and a lady ass who births dragons?
Attention deficiency is such a mood kill too. The problem is with the executive functions of the brain. It’s a thought management problem. I could be watching a movie and totally skim through the entire plot, make up my own characters, the ones that are edgier, less vanilla, and more fictional than the I am actually watching on the screen. It’s not even the quality of the video that deprives me of my experience, It’s the sheer narration of it. The movie could be the cleanest movie of all time, but if it fails to engage me, it’s as pointless as the pixels that make it, because my AD is beyond HD.