I tripped over a rock most people would have noticed.  He first saw me then.  Later he said that was the moment he fell in love.

My features were unformed; most people confused them with perfect.  At eighteen I knew they were childlike.  Most girls longed for beauty; I longed for character.

I did and didn't want to blend into the curtains; to be camouflaged until I understood what I was doing.  

That year, 1968-69. I felt as if I were a girl in a candy store.   My candy store gave out real life boys.  I was in hippie princess heaven, complete with sound track by Janis, The Airplane, Moody Blues, Donavon and Melanie among others.

For the first time since early elementary school it was better than OK to be me.  I could dance to my own rhythm; sing out of key, be sloppy, do whatever people with the unnamed disorder did or didn't do.  It didn't matter what I did. People either hated me or were entranced.

Life would have been perfect had I any idea about what I was doing.  I accepted my life as a gift from the gods but was never actually sure why.

That year, and the one after that, and the decade that was to come gave me much warped confidence.

I knew I was desirable but wasn't sure why.  I thought I was smart but was convinced most people thought otherwise.  Even when all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

I love writing in fiction.  It's something I discovered I was good in after I began my blog.  But I feel pulled toward writing a memoir about living with non verbal learning disorder.  People either feel pity or don't believe it's a real disorder.  

I'm not a person to be pitied though I often hurt from what I can't learn.  That I can't learn too many things no matter how much I try doesn't point to stupidity but a bona fide disorder.