Are you good at what you do? What would you like to be better at?
I’m damn good at what I do. The problem is if I want to do it. I joke about being the original slacker but the problem is simply interest. If you can’t hold my interest, I do a lousy job.
That’s why I liked what I did when I worked in forensic psychology. You never knew what was coming at you that day. You never knew what you would have to handle. You had to think on your feet. And hell… I’m an adrenaline junkie. But those shakes after a high are bad.
Sure I was bored but it was like being a cop or a marine. One minute you are sitting there bored out of your mind wondering if this damn shift is ever going to end and the next, the chair goes through the smoke room window and all hell breaks loose. I liked that. And I was damn good at that.
In 15 years, I never got hit. Okay, I take that back. I was whacked on the back of the head by one of the inmates while talking to another guard. We didn’t even get a chance to do anything about it. One of the other inmates slammed him up against the wall and told him, “If you ever touch him again, I’ll hurt you.” I told him thank you and we let them handle it because it was handled. The guy who hit me never came near me again.
I took over the AA/NA groups in our facility. We had 5 people attending. When my new boss, who hated my guts, took over and took me off of the groups, I was charting on 78 people for each group. The new boss was a fuck up. She would always leave the supervisor’s office smelling like gin.
She was the reason I quit. Well, she left first. She smarted off to the wrong inmate one day and ended up in the hospital. Her mouth was her downfall. As staff we couldn’t punch her out but an inmate could and did.
I was good. I got things done and reached people. And then the boss from hell burned me out. She was there for 1 year and she fried a lot of us.
I was damn good, loved my job, and, damn it, still miss it.
I’m good at writing, at least that is what my 12 Betas tell me. I am not sure I believe them. But I want to be better. I want to be a lot better. Everything I rant about in the posts about writing? I am working on. I am taking various classes. I am reading articles and books. I am working on it. I can’t not if I want to write. I was better. When I was in High School I was damn good. Inactivity of over 30+ years hurt. Part of it is still in there. I think that is what the Betas may see.
It took me a long time to figure this out. I was in my late 30s before I realized this. I operated on what my mother told me for years. I was lazy and worthless and everyone would have been happier if I had never been born. I could do amazing things but I didn’t see anything I did as unusual or good. Everyone could do it and do it better. That was drummed into me from before I was born. [I remember a strong feeling of not wanting to be here when I think about being born. I think I was picking up on my mother even then who at 36 should have had enough brains to know how not to get pregnant especially after she had done it before at 20. For Gods sake, if nothing else, keep your legs closed.]
When I tested, my IQ was 128. Not shabby. My Spacial IQ was 140. The discrepancy can only point to my learning disability. It doesn’t affect spacial. Then I read the Bell Curve. The damn light bulb finally went on. There was a reason why I didn’t feel like I fit in and it had nothing to do with what my mother harped on. There was a reason I was freakin’ bored to death in most conversations.
And there is a reason I am hard to interest. Damn it. I don’t fit in. Thank God.
But it also pointed out to me that where I am lacking? It is either the Dyscalculia [and I really can’t do it. No more than a rock can talk.] or I am bored. I’m not lazy. You catch my interest and I will work at it until I master it. The problem is catching my interest. I do not do well at boredom. Probably because I deal with it so much in everyday life. It’s been a chronic state of boredom.
It took me 40 years to sort this all out. It would have been quicker but for the emotional and physical abuse from my mother. Had my Grandmother lived and I finished growing up with them in our household, it would have been different. They restrained her. When Granny died, I lost that. So it took me all those years to sort through her shit to find what my shit really was.
Today, I know. Today I know I am good. I know where I need improvement. And blessed be, I know what I really can’t do and it isn’t because I’m lazy. It’s because I can’t. My brain doesn’t work that way. Knowing I have Dyscalculia is so very liberating. I can solve the problem and continue on my way. God invented calculators for a reason… Life is so much better when you know what to worry about and what shit not to sweat.