A couple of years ago I was officially recognised as dyslexic. The relief was immense. I’d always kinda hoped I might be dyslexic, the alternative was just too awful: I was simply as dumb as my teachers insinuated. I’m not dumb (although, I still find it hard to believe). I can prove my old teachers wrong. I just need to do things differently, find patterns and paths through the maze of education material aimed at non dyslectic learners.
So while, Mr Sunshine ferrets away at his lecturers, marking and meetings I’m cultivation an education. This year I’m study 120 points with the OU at level 3. And I’m doing ok. More than ok actually. Being dyslexic means taking longer than some, occasionally letting the odd grammatical booboo slip through: ‘andy’ instead of ‘and’ springs to mind. However, it also has its benefits, although I’ve forgotten what they are for the moment. That would be the short term memory issue that blights dyslexia.
So, with my new found educational confidence and evidently forgetting the memory issues I also enrolled at volks universiteit here in Breda to officially learn to speak Dutch. Five weeks into the course I was puzzled by my lack of progress, until I remembered that my dyslexic assessor wrote: Tracey suffers from ‘Severe abnormality in the processing of auditory signals’. That explains why apart from the Dutch words that I know so well I have no need to translate (Witte wijn = white wine) all other Dutch conversation sounds like white noise, with odd tapping rhythms.
A few minutes ago this passed beneath my window and I realised that it wasn’t just my auditory signals that have trouble processing information