Crippled inside

Billy Hunt- the song by the jam playing in my head right now as I walk to the PATH train at 7:10 a.m. Once again I am dictating. I’m reminded of what Truman (tripping) Capote said about Jack Kerouac: “that’s not writing that’s typing” Well in this event that’s not typing that’s speaking.

Now Orange Juice with Lovesick plays in my head.

At the fruit stand once more. It is quiet at the moment. I had an impromptu training course with Yancy which opened the traumatic wounds of education throughout my life. Information is thrown at me. I do my best to absorb it all. I try to take notes and it doesn’t seem to work because when I look at my notes they don’t make any sense at all and I’m the one who wrote them.

I try to explain that the job might be easier handled if I get to play around with these programs on my own time, and Yancy keeps explaining that it’s okay to make mistakes, trying to figure me out on this program which brings Marcus and his suggestion and telling me that no one wants to see me fail.

It was a reminder of how I was taught. Nowadays it seems children, students have more hands-on training then I did growing up. Basically I was thrown in the deep end.

I recall being summoned to the blackboard to do a math equation and I could not do it and I stood there crying. The class ended. My classmates went to the next class. The nun who was running the class had me stand there while the new class came in wondering why I was still there and crying.

Just a bit of trauma in my educational history. And it’s that trauma on which I built my schooling.
Just running that down had those bad memories resurface. I was in an online chat with people I went to grammar school with and they were talking about how this certain nun (none) was the best, so nice and everything.

It’s not the same nun (none) I was talking about that made me stand up by the board but a different nun (none) that kicked me over because I did not know how to do my confession properly so I deserve to be beaten. This is the type of nun (none) that my former classmates admired whereas I carry the trauma

It does explain a lot- generations after me at an easier time with their education whereas I was just thrown into the mill. Today’s kids seem to have classes built around them but my generation were just thrown right into it and here I am 50 years later still licking my wounds

Sister Mary Octavian
Sister Annelle
Sister Timothy
Sister Christine Marie

This afternoon, I was working alongside Violet again. A woman had a problem with fruit stand access which needed the program that Yancy was showing me this morning. The method Yancy used might’ve worked for other people at the fruit stand but it made me nervous.

A few hours later I needed to help that woman out. Violet came over and directed me on what to do. Easy going. Enter this. Click that. Move that. Put this in. Now send. Tah dah! It was so understandable. Nothing against Yancy but Violet’s method was a breath of free air.

It made all the difference.