I married a jackrabbit

My wife is ADHD. Her entire family is ADHD. I am not. She has an ADHD internal combustion engine. I’m a run down AA battery.

We like to walk every evening during the warmer months. Our new house is part of a development but it’s out in the boonies far enough that we can be on country roads in five minutes. We enjoy walking past the horse farms, the estates, the corn fields, the barns and silos. We share that interest. But our styles differ. I like to stroll. She sprints. I have long legs. Hers are short. I can’t keep up with her. When she senses that she has opened up too great a distance she makes a loop and comes back. She winds up walking a lot more steps than I do. We hold hands until her ADHD accelerator kicks in and she opens up a fast ten yards and the process repeats. 0

I’m sure there is a vastly divergent psychological profile. She lives life faster than me. She thinks faster. She talks faster and gets more words in. She starts sentences and doesn’t finish them before starting the next sentence. When she talks to her sister on the telephone the wires heat up and don’t attempt to get me for at least 45 minutes. Her mom is good for an hour. She accuses me of not being talkative. I accuse her of not explaining things fully so that I understand. She insists she told me things that I never heard. I’m sure she said something related to what she thinks she said but it never registered. It’s not that I’m not communicating. It’s just that she doesn’t give me enough time for the thought to take shape and the words to come out.

Perhaps I don’t talk enough. But I talk quality. When I say something it pays to listen.

She reads my blogs. She may slow down enough to let me know how wrong I am. I may hear her.