I’ve mentioned my ADHD before. My over-caffeinated brain monkeys have made cameo appearances in more than a few of these pieces. For those who know me, you know I’m driven by a motor. My “slow” setting is probably illegal in at least twelve states and two Canadian provinces.

To those who really know me, I’m basically a laptop with 19 tabs open, music blaring, Netflix playing in a minimized window, and somehow still answering emails. Portable productivity. Mild chaos. Fully operational.

I’ve always known this about myself. The ones who don’t really know me have probably considered a GoFundMe for medication.

But I think this is just how I’m wired. These are my factory settings. No returns. No exchanges.

I’ve been a tinkerer and a ponderer all my life. I take things apart. Ideas. Conversations. Moments. I run mental simulations for sport. I notice patterns most people politely ignore.

The writer part, though? That’s new-ish.

Or maybe it’s not new. Maybe it’s just a new outlet. The machinery was always there — humming, revving, occasionally overheating. Writing just gave it somewhere to go besides pacing the inside of my skull.

What’s interesting is that with people like me, the thinking never really stops. It just changes outfits. The tinkerer becomes a writer. The ponderer becomes a storyteller. The constant thought-stream becomes paragraphs with margins.

Honestly, that flow is a gift. Even if it sometimes feels like it drank espresso after 9 p.m.

The other day, that guy in the mirror asked me a question:
Has writing changed the way your thoughts flow… or just how they’re expressed?

It almost stopped me in my tracks. Almost. The motor doesn’t really do “full stop.”

Truth is, I’ve never thought about it that hard. It could be both. It could be neither. It might be both, just on separate days.

Some days the thoughts feel like raw electricity — tinkerer mode. Pull it apart. Rebuild it. What if? Why not? Let’s test it.

Other days, it feels more like current with direction — writer mode. Same energy. Just channeled. Given shape. Edges. A steering wheel.

And maybe there are days where nothing changes at all. Maybe I’m just more aware of it now. Writing doesn’t create the river. It just makes you notice the current — and occasionally name it.

I’ve always been a ponderer. That part feels foundational. Writing might just be the first time I trusted the flow enough to document it… instead of trying to quiet it.

I remember once hearing a writer get asked:
When the thoughts are flowing strongest, does it feel draining… or clarifying?

That one stuck.

For me? It’s clarifying.

And if I’m honest, it’s energizing.

Which was mildly alarming at first. Because I had spent years assuming high mental activity meant something was wrong. Turns out it might just mean something is working.

Clarifying and energizing? That’s not anxiety. That’s alignment.

When thinking drains you, it feels like pacing in a locked room.
When thinking energizes you, it feels like windows opening. Air moving. Pieces clicking into place.

For someone wired like me — lifelong tinkerer, pattern-noticer, story-builder — clarity is fuel. Every thought that finds structure becomes momentum. Every idea that lands on paper becomes proof that the current isn’t chaos.

It’s current.

The motor was never the problem.

I just finally found somewhere to drive.

And maybe nineteen tabs open isn’t dysfunction.

Maybe it’s just research.

And I have coffee…

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.