How Many Productivity Systems Does It Take to Put on Pants?
It's 1:40pm on a Monday, and I'm sitting here in my underwear.
… and not the sexy kind of underwear situation, no, this is more like "I forgot how pants work today" underwear. The kind where I wake up (and I use "wake up" very loosely here) at the crack of dawn, I open my laptop, but instead of being productive, my brain just... nopes out of the concept of getting going through any morning routine whatsoever.
How did I get here? It could be related to the fact that it's been 303 days since I last had a job. (But who's counting? Spoiler alert: me, every goddamn day, like some masochistic advent calendar.)
I glance at my to-do list. Thirty-two things screaming for attention like toddlers in a grocery store checkout line. Each one feels like a ticking bomb wrapped in anxiety and tied with a bow made of executive dysfunction. If I start job hunting, I won't be able to visit my mom. If I order groceries online, I'm not writing resumes. And if I do neither of those things, well... Street Fighter 6 is right there, whispering sweet nothings about how Ryu's hadoukens are the only thing holding society together.
Fucking ADHD. The worst it’s ever been, honestly. ADHD doesn't just make tasks harder—it turns them into these shapeshifting monsters lurking in the shadows of your brain. “Hey, Task #14, that essential but mundane thing you have to do?” it hisses. “It's gonna be a complete nightmare. You'll probably fuck it up anyway.” Suddenly, avoiding everything becomes easier than facing the mountain of shoulda-coulda-woulda that's taken up permanent residence in my frontal cortex.
Here's the thing: I'm usually the guy who's got 26 PKM systems lined up like some sort of digital productivity army ready to storm the beaches of Normandy. I've got AI workflows, life-design frameworks, and enough apps to make a Silicon Valley founder weep with pride. I mean, I literally have this list in front of me that I’m considering publishing on my Substack next week if I can’t think of anything clever to write.
Yet here I am, sitting in my underwear like some productivity philosophy major. One who's having an existential crisis. About the nature of pants.
The Productivity Performance Trap
I often catch myself judging my productivity through the lens of what "normal" people do. What are they doing on a Monday afternoon? Probably returning from lunch meetings where they discussed quarterly projections over salads that cost more than my monthly Netflix subscription. Maybe some of them are actually changing the world, one Excel spreadsheet at a time.
Meanwhile, I'm here wrestling with my version of normal, which apparently involves having philosophical debates with my to-do list about whether "buy groceries" counts as one task or seventeen separate micro-tasks that each deserve their own celebration parade.
This tension between societal expectations and neurodivergent realities is fucking exhausting. It's like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole—except the peg is my ADHD brain, and the hole is a culture obsessed with hustle porn and grinding your way to success. (And not the good kind of grinding. The soul-crushing kind.)
Faced with this impossible standard, I do what any overfunctioning underachiever would do: I put the required task off as long as humanly possible. Hell, I'll even procrastinate by making myself look busy if it prevents me from doing what I actually need to do.
I'm not alone in this shit show. I know plenty of people who juggle multiple productivity tools like some organizational circus act, trying to tame their scattered brains with the digital equivalent of lion-taming chairs. But here's the beautiful irony: I'm a productivity nerd who sometimes can't get started on the most basic fucking tasks. The very systems I build to help me feel like I'm in control often become these towering monuments to everything I'm not doing.
It's like having a Ferrari in your garage while you're taking the bus. (Except the Ferrari is made of apps and the bus is just me, sitting in my underwear, contemplating whether cereal counts as lunch.)
The Imperfect Routine Revolution
One of my favorite lessons from this beautiful chaos is that routines don't have to be perfect—they just have to show up when you do. I used to think that if I just found the "right" system, I'd magically transform into some productivity machine. You know, the kind of person who has color-coded calendars and actually uses their planner for more than a very expensive coaster.
Spoiler alert: I didn't become that person. What I learned instead is that self-compassion might just be the real game-changer. When ADHD whispers its usual bullshit like "You're failing at life," I try to answer back with something revolutionary: "You're doing your best, and that's enough for today."
Sometimes, humor is the best coping mechanism we've got. Like realizing that being in my underwear at 1:40pm isn't a moral failing—it's just a perfectly human moment in the middle of a beautifully messy life. (Plus, underwear is technically clothing, so I'm not completely feral.)
The One-Thing Victory Speech
So here I am, still in my underwear at 1:40pm, but with a slightly different perspective creeping in around the edges. Maybe all of this isn't about crushing every task like some efficiency gladiator.
Maybe—and this is a radical thought— this is about showing up for yourself, even when the day starts late and the to-do list feels like Mount Everest wearing a disguise. Maybe routines don't have to be flawless.
What do you do when your brain decides to go on strike? How do you balance the pressure to perform with the basic human need to be kind to yourself? I don't have all the answers (clearly, given the underwear situation), but I'm learning that sometimes the best thing you can do is just be honest about where you're at. Instead of juggling 26 productivity tools, I’ll pick one.
Today, I did one thing. Not thirty-two. Just one. Pants optional.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I figured out how pants work.
(Or maybe just put on a really long shirt and call it a day.)
What does your version of "Monday in underwear" look like? Drop a comment below or just sit with the solidarity that somewhere, someone else is also having a beautifully imperfect day.
Also in job limbo over here. I feel ya.
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