This Might Surprise You

This is adapted from at least one of my older blogs.
Time to reveal a bit more about myself. 
I am a middle-aged {I've never really liked that expression, because to me middle-aged is half as old as one is GOING to be} single woman. I still live with my mother due to a physical disability. We have separate apartments; mine is downstairs, and Mom's is upstairs. The computer is upstairs.
I have poor eye-hand-foot co-ordination, and a perceptual-motor problem, and am a non-dyslexic dysgraphic. I was reading at an early age, but I still can't write legibly. How many times was I scolded by my teachers who thought that since I read so well, my sloppy penmanship was due to carelessness and laziness? "She's just not trying!" {In fairness to them, I should point out that in those days, most people were unaware that my particular disability even existed.}
What does poor co-ordination mean? The best way I can explain it is this: (And remember, my medical training is non-existent!) My eyes work fine,  my hands work fine, and my feet work fine.
Now, imagine that my eyes, hands, and feet are students in a classroom. Individually, they are
excellent students (I suppose that, in the case of my eyes, I should say excellent pupils.) However,
put them together in a committee, and they do not work well together. 
My poor co-ordination also gives me a problem with my balance. I can walk quite well in my own home and my own yard, where I don't have to worry about people in a hurry pushing into me. So I only go out and about if I have someone to hold on to. I do use a walker from time to time, but I have to stay on my own block even then; the traffic is too dangerous. For one thing, some drivers go
BACKWARDS on our one-way street!
Another aspect of my perceptual problem is that I cannot see where things are in relationship to where I am. I can see WHAT it is, but I won't be able to point to it accurately, nor can I tell what other people are pointing to.
I remember being very confused, very puzzled many, many times because I saw the teacher pointing to me when, in reality, she was pointing to one of my classmates, and vice-versa. I can't remember how many times I was scolded for calling out, or for not paying attention.
Once I was diagnosed, however, I explained my problem, and requested that my teachers call on me by name.
I was also one of the kids some, though not all, of the other kids picked on and called "REE-tard!" Of course, I very well might have acted the same way, had our situations been reversed.
After I had become a Catholic, someone told me that Purgatory would be much worse than anything that happened to me in school.
I responded, "No, I think it will be better, because it will be FAIR. I won't suffer anything I don't DESERVE in Purgartory, and I won't be confused as to why I am there."
And as I type this, it occurs to me that Purgatory won't only be FAIR; it will be MERCIFUL, because God is merciful. I'll suffer in Purgatory much LESS than I deserve.