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October 17, 2020: Slow to Figure Things Out

I recently figured out what Dr. Nevis, my anatomy and physiology teacher told me a year ago. It took me this long. I told her that I was having a hard time with the practical portions of the upcoming EMT exam. She said, “This is not surprising,” you are slow to process.” I did not quite know what she was getting at, at the time. Now, having processed her statement, I understand. It takes me a while to internalize information. In the meantime, it sits on the surface, like pond scum.

Yes, I did fail the practical portion of my EMT exam. I just could not work fast enough. I kept leaving out steps. And I couldn’t think things through. Add to this, I was wearing Pete’s old shoes; the front flaps were ripped and so flap, flap, flap, up and down the Snodgrass Hallway I went. No one may have been aware of this but me, but it of course threw me further off.

Could I pass the practical now? I think that I might be able to, with some practice. However, I am not going to pursue the matter because it would be for naught. I completed the course and have no need for certification.

I had the same problem with the Bones for Life training. I did terrible on the hands on aspects of the training. I think that if the teacher was a bit more patient and understanding, I would have done just fine. She, who did not understand that I am slow to process, gave up on me near the end of my training. Yes, I would like to someday get this certification.

I have embraced my particular learning style, as this relates to all aspects of my life.

This is what I figured out most recently. I stopped writing for some time because I got discouraged – I rightly felt as though I was not getting enough support on the home front. For instance, I gave Pete a draft of my Alaska State Fair book and has as of yet given me any feedback. He’s had it on hand since last January.

He’s been inattentive because he’s been busy with other things. I can’t seem to abandon the belief that if what I’d written was good, he would have gotten to it by now.

This is what I originally thought. Lately, in having had time to think about it, I am now thinking that though he’s been negligent on the response front, that he has given me the gift of time. I have not been told to get a real job. Rather, he’s supported my efforts by acknowledging that writing is a real job. I’d say that tending to animals is also a real job, but for now, I’ll just focus on the writing-related aspects of this dispatch.

And so, I now realize that by not writing, that I’m shooting myself in the foot. I have the time, and it is my responsibility to use it wisely. I am now working on my bicycle trip essay – I said in an email message to a friend that “my ambitions exceed my abilities.” I thought this was a brilliant statement. When I write something, I do reach for the stars and usually fall short. It’s the reaching, this is what’s important. All it takes is time, and I who am slow to process have now figured this out.

Next: 288. 10/18/20: The Stuff Dreams are Made of

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