A weight lifted

In 2007, I enrolled in a Master's of Science in Education program. I excelled in my classes, all but one, the computer class that was required. I looked it up online, I purchased web addresses, I purchased software, I sent emails for help. But after many years of frustration and also embarrassment that I did not yet complete the class therefore not receiving my master's. I finally called the instructor and explained that I had tried multiple times to finish the website, the final project, but due to my fine motor difficulties, and the fact that I could not easily attend additional classes in order to complete the project, I asked him what he thought I should do. He gave me credit for the course and so, now, finally:

I can say I have a Master's in Education

What I want to do with my life? Buy sneakers!

....I'm kidding!
As I think of my life, and what I am good at, and what cerebral palsy does not affect, it comes back to the same thing: writing. There are a lot of blogs by aspiring writers, but writing is what I do best. I don't feel the struggle when I am typing on my laptop. Writing is not a laborious task for me as say, walking a long distance. I love words, I love watching people interact, I am fascinated by families. I don't know what this revelation will lead me to. But I am thinking that perhaps this is the beginning of what my life should be.

Half full, half empty

If a person were to ask me about my life, I would say It's great! I love my pets, my nieces and nephews love me, and I am fortunate to have three living grandparents that are relatively healthy. I'm smart and friendly, I know who I am, and I am a force to be reckoned with.

Yet, when talking about abilities concerning employment, I tend to mention my shortcomings. My organizational skills leave much to be desired. My brain tends to quit when I am overstimulated. I have trouble focusing on many different aspects of an issue, forgetting some aspects. I work slower than other people. What gives? I don't understand how in general I have an optimistic attitude and I even own a" half full" T shirt from Life is Good. But in talking about potential employment, what a downer I can be!

The one aspect of CP I cannot talk about and avoid thinking about

is Driving. I avoided emotion about the subject for years. I simply would not feel, pushing a thought out of my head. Because I couldn't feel how I truly felt about it. I couldn't feel like driving would be impossible. That's just not me. I don't usually think tasks are impossible. Also, I know that it's not the end of the world, I know there are other things I can do, and that a lot of people can't do a lot of the things I can. If only I could get to work via poetry writing or playing a trivia game, I would be set. Part of me wants to try and the other part cannot stand to think about the fact that if I tried and it didn't work out anyway. My heart could not take it. Public transportation is not fabulous where I live, but for now I enjoy being near my family, and I think the biggest obstacle I face concerning the driving is the feelings I have about not driving, how trapped I feel. It may seem lame, but the pain I feel is real.

What Testing Felt Like

I realize
This poem may be written from a point of view of someone that has been analyzed a lot.
Walk over here.
Get an xray of this.
Draw this
Count backward by seven from 100
You are too sensitive
You need therapy
Well if you are on medication already maybe you need another.

The testing room's walls bored me.
claustrophobia
Familiar looking boxes of subtests
Being asked to bare all
so I do
I cry and I know in the back of my mind
she will write this down in the report
But I can't stop it
This room is boring.
I'm missing work today
My foot is protesting and telling me to go to the doctor
and I don't know it now but tomorrow I will get a boot and miss a week of work, having to use my walker in the house
But right now my foot tells me
Don't sit too long, stand too long, walk too long
This test amplifies all of my disabilities
Why don't I just wear a sign that lists my difficulties for crying out loud.
At this moment I don't feel like my mother's daughter, a giving friend
a fun auntie.
I am a testing subject sitting in a room with no pictures on the walls, and maybe one window
performing tasks I have done before
getting frustrated and knowing I am being watched and judged for my frustration
But I cannot help it.
I bore all in that bare room with no hope
I kept it real and if it was below average, if I was too anxious
If I cried too much
That's how it was.
That's how I felt in that day in November, even if I didn't feel that way a week before.
Because the fact is, sitting in a small, nondescript room, answering questions about things I don't like to talk about, for hours, to someone I have never met, knowing how people perceive me
is difficult