Category: My Not so Secret Diary

Certified even. Ha Ha.

Nobody cares. It’s the truth.

I found out when they tested me in third grade, literally gave me an IQ test twice. Apparently, because they were confused as to why I tested so high but was failing in school. My parents didn’t care, other kids didn’t care, aunts, uncles, cousins… it did not impress a single one of them. In some cases they even thought I was making it up*. They definitely thought I was obnoxious about it, and looking back, I know I was.

 My report cards were mostly C's and D's, with a sprinkling of F's.  

The exception teachers who tested me, now, they were impressed. Granted, it was a kind of a pitying, hey kid maybe you have a chance, impressed. I doubt anyone considered me a savant except the librarian. Because academically speaking, it was my first real and maybe only accomplishment. Unless you count being autodidact learning for fun, or reading every book in the school library, and it turns out, they did not.

They made me take the test twice that first time and later in school at least twice, junior high and high school. Not sure if it was to make sure I wasn’t cheating or it was a fluke and I just guessed right I guess. But again. I scored at the top two percentile certificate.

Before the tests, all my teachers hated me, in grade school, – and beyond, I was always daydreaming or reading in their class, instead of paying attention to what they were saying. Unless I was correcting them when they misquoted the text book. I never turned in homework, talked in class when I wasn’t reading. Argued with them even if I was in trouble. Had a tardiness problem from kindergarten on. Yeah, not exactly teachers, or principals, pet.

Thinking back, they hated me after the tests too.

Turns out I was a little shit without respect for authority. I did, and still do, set off the authoritarian types, because well, I don’t obey rules I see no value to. But we’ll get more into that in a bit. But Still… “After the tests”, some of the teachers tried mentoring me…

I got put in the smart kid classes.. In junior high they put me in what was known in the Lost Angeles School district back then, as “Mentally Gifted Minors” or MGM as it was called.

The math teacher decided to “mentor me” in the disguise of a disciplinary action. I was to report to him note book in hand, and show him my class notes, homework assignments, projects. All organized and neat at the beginning of school and after every class.

Poor guy, I was horrible at it(keeping things neat organizing, taking notes) and hated it. Despite his efforts, I still flunked, or maybe because of them. I resented the draconian methods and constraint… Though the flunk became an incomplete because we moved before the semester ended. And that a is another story in a long line of opportunity lost.

Hubris

In Freshman year after aptitude test – I decided I wanted to help people and become a doctor, the plan – university and medical school. Fast track courses for college, while still in High School, so I could get my nursing degree the year after I graduated, to pay for it. The beauty of it being I could use the course credits.

Enrolled in classes geared for that path,

• German because they didn’t offer Latin,
• Algebra,
• government/civics
• Biology
• English

I finished homework in class and turned it in the same day, I studied, I turned in papers… I aced more than one class with A’s … But then…

Biology 101. Dean, The Water Polo captain sat directly across from me in class. I was a teenage girl, he was like candy in a candy store, toned, tanned, handsome, he took up a lot of head room. Making concentrating on the lecture part of the class that was homework related and not in the text book difficult. Add that to the seven stages of mitosis and microscopes. F. and D. Never even cracked a C in that class, even though I aced the tests, except for the finals – which were lab based.

Our teacher was very lab oriented based on his grading, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not see it through the microscope, I could not see the pattern. I was able to outline the process and give you the name of the stages but I was unable to identify them in lab*.

I did ace the other two Science classes I had to take to make up for it, but it didn’t alleviate that big old fat F.

Kind of devastating to my plan to become a doctor. Biology and GPA are the cornerstones of that educational path.

In the mean time I got 3 years of German, kindled an interest in civics, did fairly well in math, and took classes on medical terminology, medical assistant classes, front and back office. and a “Unit Secretary” course. And earned enough extra credit to only need to attend 4 classes a semester my Senior year.

*Years later in  one of the undergrad psychology majors that i worked with (as a Unit Secretary) in a psychiatric facility gave me a test as a part of a project he was working on,  and told me I have a mild case of face blindness which is related to failure in pattern recognition

I did try like hell to reach “My potential”

But it was quite a

Truth be told, after a while, you tend to start to believe maybe in the scheme of things, being a genius over all in life, is not all that important, or a magic portal to success. And in some cases it can be a real drag. And it sure doesn’t mean that you don’t make mistakes, or get things wrong. Or become a rocket scientist. I read somewhere that a majority of geniuses don’t become Doctors and Lawyers and such as the song goes.

And when you grow up, you find out early that, without a degree to back the genius, employers don’t care either. At least until they see the benefits, after they hire you.

These days, I don’t tend to tell people that I’m a genius, except as a warning because I can tell they are underestimating my grasp on the situation. Mostly, I prefer to let people figure it out themselves. I like in many way how this doesn’t get in the way of starting relationships with people, or expectations. Or disappointment.

My Dad taught me a lot. Not always by what he said but how he lived. And of course, I didn’t always know he was showing me at the time, but in the end, it all made sense.

Not that he didn’t have his faults, but he was a pretty good Dad. Strict.

But then, I was a Wild teen of the 70’s, and the discipline was probably a good thing to keep me on the up and up and learning about consequences and responsibilities was valuable.

I live in a fixer upper. I’ve lived in a fixer upper since childhood, even when there was brand new construction, because my dad, he liked to tear things up, errr, fix things up himself.. In his last house,, a homesteaded cabin in the high desert, he took out the supporting beam to take out the wall between the back porch and the living room (to enlarge it) and ended up using a telephone pole to prop up his house. No Lie.

That was not as scary as the 225 live wire that hung down from the ceiling about 5 ft away. Not surprisingly this was part of a project that was left unfinished for 20 years. just like the drywall in the living room, and many other projects.

During the late 70s, in another house, a mid-century Daddy covered the open beam ceilings, the windows and sliding glass door of the west wall in the living room, and the in drywall and insulation and closed off the windows at the top of the ceilings… Sort of stucco’d the outside, a job finished much later by my brother in law, I think.

I was sad when he covered those windows. Those windows, besides being the hall mark of the iconic look and some very groovy natural light. Very sad, but his ceiling came out pretty good, and at least he left the height. I was worried he was going to do a drop ceiling.

His main reasoning was to cut down on the heating bills. -Everybody needs a hobby, my dad’s was “doing it himself”. And saving money.

My house is a fixer upper. Sort of a natural disaster

But it’s mine. And well, it’s mine.

All so I could avoid debt.

But of course nobody can avoid debt… it is apparently what makes things go around these days

Hopefully, I’m just as content to wait to see my ideas come to fruition as this house becomes my home and not just a house. I will not be covering any windows, except with curtains.

Ansel. Dex. Camryn Manheim. Times a thousand each

So I just got through watching another episode, and I am enamored. The imperfection of the characters. The pain that is dismissed. The reality. The drunkeness.

I’d say I have played the part more than once. In some circumstances I’d rather not think, let alone talk about. Because honestly, it hurts that I could be that stupid.

But in Activism in particular, it hurt because I cared. I cared about the people, I cared and believed in the cause and sometimes the people. And when I figured out the truth about some of those people, the greed, the manipulation, the sheer dishonesty of some of those people..the actions. And then of course, sometimes infamously, the mad would happen. The Anger. In some cases disgust. Oh, how I hate being played. Especially if I feel like I should have seen it coming. And if I pull up those memories, I still feel the hurt, and the anger, and the frustration.

The problem was, I still cared about the cause. And sometimes I even still cared about the people, but I always walked away from them, the organization, the group, because well, I was done. Sometimes I tried to warn others, but sometimes not. Sometimes I just wanted to find a door… and distance ASAP because I was to be honest, creeped out, or felt like a line I didn’t want to cross. Like ever.

Then someone tells me, I’m an idealist and it all falls into place. I’m just an idiot. And I decided I needed a break from thinking about it “all” or rubbing elbows so that’s what’ I’ve done. Gone back to a “regular” life for a while and letting reality percolate through.

And man, has it. I’m glad that I did it. Took the break I mean. I needed the space and it gave me some perspective on how things, and people really work. And how I can maybe do it better.
The problem is Reality sucks.