Whittling

Lately, I’ve had this powerful urge to get into whittling. I imagine myself sitting on a stoop somewhere, methodically carving a chunk of pale, soft wood away from itself. I push my blade over and over, and the slivered shavings gradually accumulate around my ankles. Then, after a few hours of this meditative practice, I come away with a smooth spoon, or maybe a rough little creature to put up on a shelf.

But in reality, I don’t have the patience for whittling. It’s far too repetitive, and repetitive tasks feel tedious and boring to my adhd-addled brain.