Part One was all about the big picture: the voltage theory of mental energy, the three flavors of procrastination, why medication is the prerequisite technology, and why you need to stop trying to out-will your own brain chemistry.
This part is where it gets practical. These are the actual tools and psychological tricks I use every day. Some of them feel ridiculous when you write them down (I put emojis in my task titles to make myself enjoy looking at them). Others feel like cheating (I built an elaborate external brain so I never have to remember anything). But they all work.
The Todo List Is a Brain Prosthetic
I use Todoist. I don't think of it as an app. It's more like reading glasses for my memory.
The todo list provides three things my brain is bad at:
Memory. The list remembers things so my brain doesn't have to. I'm no longer at the mercy of my own neurons randomly pinging me that I forgot something. The list holds it all.
Order. I can drag and drop tasks into the sequence I'll actually do them. The list handles the scheduling that my brain finds exhausting.
Hierarchy. I can break big tasks down into smaller ones, recursively, without limit. A project becomes a list becomes a sublist becomes individual actions.
Of the three, memory matters most. The list does one thing: it remembers what I would otherwise forget.
Habit Formation Through Strategic Amnesia
Here's one thing that always tripped me up with habit formation: I'd commit to doing something every day, do it for two days, and then just forget. Not because I was lazy. Because I literally forgot the commitment existed.
The todo list solves this by turning many habits into one. I don't need to remember "make my bed every day" and "floss every night" and "take vitamin D every morning." The list remembers all of those. I only need to form a single habit: checking the todo list.
I also used to start projects and then lose track of them. I'd read twenty pages of a book, leave it on a table, and three weeks later realize I'd started another book entirely. The first one sits abandoned with a bookmark on page twenty.
Now every project or book I commit to becomes a task. It sits in the list. I see it every time I open Todoist.
How I Actually Have Todoist Set Up
Every task in Todoist belongs to a project. My sidebar looks like this:
Tasks. The catch-all for ad-hoc items. Unload the dishwasher. Reply to this email. The only rule: everything here must be scheduled.
Groceries. Self-explanatory.
Ideas. Every half-formed intention goes here. "Learn to use a slide rule." "Go penguin watching." "Build a journaling app." The purpose is to get these out of my head so they stop taking up mental real estate. Periodically I go through the list and promote something to an actual active project.
Blog. A dedicated dumping ground for post ideas so they don't pollute the general Ideas list.
Reading List. Divided into fiction, non-fiction, technical books, blog posts, papers, games, and films. Yes, I track my media consumption as tasks. Future me will thank present me.
Cycles. Recurring tasks organized by period: daily, weekly, monthly. Daily items include "take vitamin D," "meditate," and the inbox-clearing task.
Projects. A container for multi-step objectives that take actual work. I make each project a top-level item in the sidebar instead of nesting it as a subtask, because I need to see it every time I glance at the list. If it's in the sidebar, it stays visible.
The Three Types of Task Selection
I have a problem with the word "prioritize" because it means two different things:
Weak prioritization: sorting a list into some order of what you'll do next. Everyone should do this. It takes ten seconds and keeps the relevant stuff at the top of your visual field.
Strong prioritization: sorting specifically by importance. This is a terrible algorithm. Importance alone is not a good scheduling heuristic.
Say you have a very important task that takes three hours, and a less important task that takes five minutes. Which should you do first? The short one. Because completing it unblocks its successor tasks. If you reply to that email, the other person has time to read it and respond while you're working on the big thing.
My actual task selection algorithm is: do the shortest task first, with two exceptions.
Exception one: stalled tasks get a priority bump. If a task has been sitting in my list for weeks, or I've postponed it multiple days in a row, it jumps to the front.
Exception two: context dependence. If I'm deep in a particular project, I want to stay in that mental space. I'll pick tasks from that project rather than jumping wildly between contexts.
Visual Field Management
"Out of sight, out of mind" isn't just a saying for me. It's a rule of how my brain works. If I can't see it, it doesn't exist.
The corollary: if I want to remember something, I put it in my visual field. If I want to stop thinking about something, I get it out of my visual field.
My desk is spartan. Monitor, keyboard, mouse, a few trinkets. My computer desktop is completely empty. No files. The dock has only the apps I use frequently. I keep my apartment clean, because visual clutter is mental noise for me.
The positive side: most of the time, I keep two windows open. Todoist on the left third of my screen. Whatever I'm working on in the right two-thirds. At a glance, I can see:
- What I'm currently working on.
- What I'll work on next.
- The list of active projects, so I don't forget they exist.
That third point is the most important one. Having the project list permanently visible prevents the "oh right, I was working on that" failure mode.
Project Check-Ins: Keeping In Touch
Here's a failure pattern I see in myself: I won't finish a project because I literally forget I started it. Or I let it drag on so long that my interests shift and it becomes a slog.
Often it's because I think creative work needs long, uninterrupted stretches of time. So I keep waiting for the perfect afternoon, which never comes, and the project drifts out of my mental orbit.
The fix is regular check-ins. I have a recurring task that says "spend 30 minutes on this project."
Here's the trick: I don't even have to work on the thing. I just have to hold it in my mind for fifteen to thirty minutes. Open the file and look at it. Read the code. Stare at the blank page. If I can do, I do. If I can't, I plan. If I can't even plan, I just read.
When I do this regularly, the shape of the project stays clear in my mind. I no longer feel the need for a giant empty runway of time. I can work in shorter chunks because I haven't lost context. The pomodoro timer works great here. Just set 25 minutes to stay in touch with the project.
Inbox Management: The Art of Not Dropping Things
Life is full of inboxes. Email. DMs on half a dozen platforms. Browser bookmarks. The Downloads folder. Government portal messages. The physical mailbox in my apartment building.
Each one fills up over time and needs action. They're all domain-specific task lists disguised as inboxes.
Centralize Everything
I have a daily recurring task called "catch up" where I go through all my communication apps, triage what's there, and either reply immediately or create a task so I don't forget. I file the Downloads folder. I go through bookmarks.
The goal is to bring everything into one central todo list, because if it's scattered across ten different inboxes, stuff will fall through the cracks. And not the unimportant stuff either. The important stuff is the best at hiding.
Inbox Zero (Yes, Actually)
Inbox zero sounds like LinkedIn-tier advice, I know. But hear me out. There are two reasons it matters:
No false negatives. If an inbox is empty, you know you've handled everything. If there's a single unread email, you know there's work to do. There's no ambiguity.
Important messages camouflage themselves. If I check my email and see four messages, read them, and three were junk, the fourth one that needs a reply blends in. I think "I've looked at those, they're fine" and move on. The important one gets lost in the noise. With inbox zero, that can't happen. Anything in the inbox is unfinished business, period.
Inbox Bankruptcy
By the time I got organized, I had thousands of bookmarks, unread emails, and files strewn across my Downloads folder. Filing them all would have been overwhelming. So I didn't.
I archived everything. The Downloads folder got zipped and thrown into an "attic" folder. The emails got bulk-archived. The bookmarks got exported to HTML and deleted from the browser.
I didn't lose anything. The information is still recoverable. But it's not in my active field of view, humming away in the background. Do this once, at the start. You can always go back and triage later.
The Pomodoro Method for the ADHD Brain (Not the Neurotypical Version)
You usually hear pomodoro described as: work for 25 minutes, take a 5 minute break. It assumes you already have a decent relationship with getting started. For ADHD brains, doing is often the problem. The scaffolding doesn't help there.
But I've found three specific scenarios where it works well:
The Microtask Avalanche. When you have a bunch of small annoying tasks (reply to ten different people, each one takes 15 seconds), the pile feels overwhelming even though any individual piece is trivial. The pomodoro turns it into a challenge. 25 minutes of pain for an entire day of peace. And you're usually done in ten minutes.
The Starting Problem. You don't want to do the thing. You don't want to do the thing you're about to do. But maybe you can tolerate 25 minutes of it. And often, the act of starting is all you needed. You do the 25 minutes and then four hours have passed.
The Stopping Problem. The opposite failure mode: you hyperfocus on one project and it eats into everything else. The gym. Sleep. Human interaction. The timer going off is an external signal that it's time to switch gears, which your internal signals aren't providing.
Do It On Your Own Terms
When I'm anxious about a task, one strategy that helps is to move it into an environment I control.
Example: I have to fill out a government form. The thought of the actual form fills me with dread because I'm afraid of making a mistake. So I recreate the form as a spreadsheet. I use my own fonts and colors. I make it feel like something I designed. I fill it out there. Then I copy the values to the real form and submit.
Example: I have to reply to an email that makes me anxious. Instead of opening my email client, I compose the reply in a text editor. Now I'm just writing text. Maybe I pretend I'm writing a work of fiction. The change of environment changes how the task feels.
The trick: you're working in a space you control, on your own terms, instead of in the place that makes you nervous.
Replace Interrupts with Polling
Notifications arrive at unpredictable times. Every buzz and popup is a context switch, and my brain pays for every one.
The fix is simple: turn off all non-essential notifications. Replace interrupts with polling. Instead of notifications coming to you throughout the day, you go to them in focused blocks.
There's a subtler benefit too: notifications that arrive in a scattered way throughout the day fall through the cracks easily. You see something, you're busy, you swipe it away, you forget about it. Polling is focused. You're sitting at your desk, in the right mental state, committed to going through everything systematically. Less stuff falls through the cracks.
I resisted this for a long time because I wanted to be the kind of person who replies within minutes. But I didn't realize how much notifications were shredding my focus until I accidentally put my phone on Do Not Disturb for a day and had the most productive day of my life.
The Accountability Buddy
If I'm struggling to work on something, working next to another person helps. Just having someone else in the room changes the dynamic. Set a timer, tell them what you're going to accomplish, and when the timer ends, tell them how you did.
Coworking spaces exist for exactly this reason.
If you don't have a person nearby, there are services for this. Sometimes I'll start a conversation with an AI, lay out my plans for the day, and then report back as I go. Having the plan stated externally makes it more real than just thinking it in my head.
Plan First, Do Later
Planning and doing are different mental activities. They require different kinds of energy. Separating them helps for three reasons:
Energy matching. When I'm too tired to do, I can often still plan. I'm using the low-voltage part of my day productively instead of just scrolling.
Feedback loop. By separating planning from execution, I can look back and see how good my plan was. How much did I stick to it? How accurate were my estimates? This makes me better at planning over time.
The Cough Drop Problem. The most important reason: when you have ADHD, doing things is itself a source of distraction. You get up to get a glass of water, and in the kitchen you forget why you're there. You see a cough drop on your car dashboard, intend to throw it away, and eight hours later it's still there.
The solution: when I notice a micro-task, my first instinct is to put it in the todo list. Then I try to do it immediately. And if I get distracted halfway through, it's still there, in the list, waiting for me.
Practical example: the apartment survey. When I clean, I start by walking around and noting everything that needs to be done. Even something as trivial as "move the book from the coffee table to the bookshelf." I don't start anything until the survey is complete. Then I execute. And if I get distracted halfway through, the list is still there.
Things I've Learned Derail Me (Your Mileage May Vary)
Through journaling, I've identified specific things that destroy my productivity. They might not apply to you, but finding yours is worth the effort.
Lifting in the morning. Weight training in the morning costs me what feels like 40 IQ points for the rest of the day. I'm not sure why (CNS fatigue? depleted glycogen?), but the most cognitively demanding thing I can do after a morning lift is wash dishes. So I lift in the evening and do mentally demanding work in the morning.
Pacing. I used to be a world-class pacer. Headphones on, walking back and forth for hours, daydreaming. Some days my legs would be sore from it. Motion helps me think, but sometimes I've thought enough and it's time to do. I have to be careful not to let the motion become a substitute for action.
Music. Music is almost like reverse medication for me. It makes me restless. It triggers the pacing. It fragments my attention. I work best in near-silence.
Using Your Weird Brain Against Itself
If having an organized system makes you feel good, lean into that. Spend more time organizing your productivity system if it bleeds over into actually getting things done.
I put emojis in my task titles. The chores get a cleaning emoji. The communication tasks get an envelope emoji. It makes the list easier to scan at a glance, and honestly, it just makes me enjoy looking at the todo list more. That matters more than I expected.
But there's a trap here, which I call the Master of Drudgery.
The Master of Drudgery Trap
You know the joke about the person with the most elaborate productivity system in the world who produces nothing? Five todo list apps. Everything color-coded and categorized. They complete a hundred tasks a day and when you ask what those tasks are: "brush my teeth." "Reorganize my bookshelf."
Life isn't built from quick wins. Creative, generative work requires long, focused periods. A lot of uncomfortable things have to be done. The quick wins are infinite. There's always another micro-chore. The trap is spending all your productive energy on the easy, satisfying tasks while the real work sits untouched.
I don't have a perfect solution for this. But noticing when you're doing it is most of the battle.
Thrashing
This is a failure mode that used to consume entire days: I have one task I can't bring myself to do (aversion, anxiety, whatever). But when I try to work on other things, the alarms are going off in my head. "You should be working on THAT thing. You've been putting it off. Life is short." The end result is that nothing gets done. The one blocked task derails everything.
I manage this with timeboxing. I can't ignore the terrifying task forever, but I probably won't solve it in the next ten minutes either. So I allocate a block of time every day to try to advance it, or work around it. Ask someone for help. Make some incremental progress. The rest of the day is for moving other things forward.
The Travel Calendar Hack
I am chronically late. Always have been. The fix is stupidly simple.
If I have a calendar event at someone's place, I look up the travel time on a map app and create separate calendar events for the travel windows. If it takes 30 minutes to get to the dentist, my calendar shows:
- "Travel to dentist" (30 min block)
- "Dentist appointment" (actual event)
- "Travel home from dentist" (30 min block)
For important things I add 15 minutes as a buffer. This ensures I actually leave my house on time.
A Note on Tools
What productivity app should you use? Whatever feels good and works. I use Todoist because I've tried every alternative and I always come back. When you have an app open for 98% of your screen time, the small differences in UX really add up.
One app is better than two. The more disjoint things you have to monitor, the more stuff falls through the cracks.
And if you're a software engineer: don't build your own. I know you want to. Building a todo list app is the most sophisticated form of procrastination known to programmers. Don't do it. Just use something off the shelf.
The Actual Resources (The Two That Matter)
There are two resources I've found genuinely useful beyond the standard advice:
"How To Do Things" by David Cain. It's a short PDF that describes an ADHD-friendly version of the Pomodoro method. Fifty pages, no fluff. Worth buying just to support writers who respect your time.
"Getting Things Done" by David Allen. The brain-dump advice is genuinely useful (dump your entire mental load into a trusted external system). But the book is somewhat neurotypical. It assumes you won't have trouble actually executing the tasks once they're organized. Take the parts that work and ignore the rest.