Keeping Track of Things

by Carmen Viloria

Keeping track of things is potentially the start of a longer piece/series about my experience living with ADHD as a woman in her twenties, emphasizing my relationship with everyday objects to illuminate the very real annoyances of seemingly inconsequential symptoms of neurodivergence.

My relationship with things is… complicated.

“Where’s your passport?” my mom calls me to say — and I run from the kitchen table to the drawer left of my dishwasher to be sure it’s still there next to an array of ballpoint pens, a screwdriver, some letters, a bike light, and Oh! That’s where that is; I’ve been looking for that scrunchie.

On the counter sits a light blue flower pot. In the pot’s saucer live a few coins from different countries neighboring my mail key, which I’ve lost and paid to replace four times. (The cost of losing things adds up.) The saucer sits at my eye level in a place I frequent often. I’ve strategically designed a home for my key to help prevent yet another disappearance. I remember to check whether my package arrived yesterday. I look for my Crocs and find one by the door. Where’s the other? A speckle of green peeks from under the couch; I give my dog a side-eye. “Let’s go check the mail, bud.” I do a couple of laps around the living room before spotting his leash on the armchair.

Walking to my mailbox down the street, I realize my passport expires in three months. I’ll write a reminder on the fridge to renew it. These shoes rub on my pinky toe when I don’t wear socks. It’s Wednesday; I should do laundry because I’m running out of clean underwear. Back home, I pull the trashcan back up to the yard before the HOA lady gets on my ass about leaving it on the curb again. I check my phone; a scheduled call in one hour. I should shower.

…

I slump into the kitchen chair to sip my coffee, eyes wandering. Crap. Where’s the key? The key! My shorts flung at the top of my laundry pile. *Checks pocket* I scramble to retrieve and return the key to its home, the pot saucer.

My dog grunts at me to refill his water bowl.

*daydreams by the window*

I hear the bowl overflow. Water drips down my hand.

My laptop is, of course, dead. I prefer to sit at the other end of the table where the charger can’t reach — where I spot half a piece of toast from earlier. I forgot to finish my breakfast.

…

This piece was written during the 2024 D-Crit Summer Intensive Residency at the School of Visual Arts. The next Summer Intensive session will take place June 2–13, 2025. Apply for free by April 15th.