It's official, I had a hunch, a small but confident hunch, and it was confirmed by a psychologist. That's the first time I've spoken to a psychologist, although he wasn't able to interpret my dreams, he was able to work out through a selection of tests (some i'd like to call games) that I have mild form dyslexia.
I don't think it's that big a deal. It's something I thought I had for a while but hasn't effected my life enough to seek help, but I'm glad I know. It's helped me have a sort of closure on certain things that can often be frustrating, and allowed me to accept that it's not my fault! If there is an error anywhere in this blog or any poem I've ever written it's either on purpose, or due to my mild dyslexia, I've warned you now!
No, I'd never excuse myself out of any future situation by blaming dyslexia and plus my main issue is memory, and not grammar and punctuation, or spelling and IQ. My main problem is memory, my sister Vanessa is the same, you tell me your name in a conversation we'll carry on talking I will without doubt not remember your name (unless maybe it's the same as mine!). Same with phone numbers, emails, birthdays etc. Worst of all is reading books, I'll read a whole page and not remember why or who or where the protagonist is, and will often have to re-read. It's well frustrating, innit.
But I learnt something new about myself. I've noticed that we really do learn more as we get older, when I was 14 there was no doubt in mind that I knew everything. But you oldies were right we learn more and more, about ourselves and the world and the trees and the bees and the planes and the trains and the sky and then we die.
But I guess it's good to know as much as we can, more so about ourselves. Or maybe it's a bad thing...see I think I wouldn't get on with another version of me, even though we have the same things in common I'd still get annoyed by something, probably the incessant self-reflection, and boring impertinent topics of conversation...