I've never kept a journal of any kind before, so this whole blogging experience will be new to me. I think the first post is supposed to be sort of introductory. I guess I'll get to that part later. For now, I want to tell you why this blog exists and what I hope to accomplish by filling it with my life. So, here we go.
I'm writing this blog to keep track of myself and those I interact with. This wouldn't be so hard if I lived any semblance of a normal life. You'll see what I mean. I want to remember. I want to have something to reflect back on when it all goes away. I want proof that I lived, so that when I'm 80 (if I should be so lucky) and bed ridden, I can read and laugh and know that I had it pretty good.
This blog exists so that I know I did.
I've called it In Bed With Lemi, because I feel like that's what you'll be doing--crawling into bed with me. Come slide between the sheets with me and hypothetically shed your clothing. I'll be baring all. The name seemed appropriate to me. I wasn't thinking of it in a sexual way, but I suppose that's fitting. You'll see what I mean.
If I'm really being honest, my therapist recommended me starting this. I don't particularly enjoy telling people that I'm seeing someone like that. It's not like I can't sort through my own affairs without help. But it's nice to have someone to share with, even if he's paid to do it. It's nice to talk and know someone's listening.
A little about me:
I go by Lemi. It's pronounced (Leh--Mee). No, that's not my birth name. I don't think I'll ever divulge that...I don't care for it much. Since I know you're wondering, no, Winks is not my last name either. But that's what I go by, so that's what you can call me.
I think I'm a fairly normal person. My therapist disagrees. He's constantly telling me that I live a very unique, self inflicted life. Self inflicted. Like there's really any other choice. Everything we do affects ourselves, whether we realize it or not. Everything is self-inflicted. He wholeheartedly disagrees with my 'lifestyle'. Those outside of it usually do. He's always trying to find a reason or underlying cause for my actions. I keep telling him I just do what I want. What sounds or feels good. He keeps telling me there's something more. But I'm pretty sure he's wrong.
I grew up outside of Dallas. Anyone who's anyone knows that's in Texas. I have both my mother and father and an older brother. Significantly older. I was a 'wonderful surprise'. I later found out this meant that my dad thought he couldn't father anymore children...but I'm proof he could. I've had my skeptical moments, but I've done the research. I'm definitely his.
I had a typical childhood. Bike rides, family trips, public education etc...I guess that's what passes for typical these days. Growing up in Texas means that I appreciate a good steak, football season and the occasional rodeo. But I don't consider myself a country bumpkin, or a hick. In fact, unless I tell people I'm from Texas, or they catch me during a game...they don't even know that's my home. I worked hard to get the Southern out of my mouth when I moved away to college. I think I'm pretty successful. It does tend to come out when I'm pissed off. Otherwise, I'm careful.
I don't live there now, of course. I could never get away with what I do if I lived anywhere near my hometown. People talk. And I won't drag my family into any of it. You'll see what I mean.
Now, I live in Washington. The state, not the capitol. I find it odd that I have to make the distinction. If I lived in DC, I'd say it. But people always ask. I finished my undergrad studies at WSU. I am at the tail-end of my graduate studies right now. I have about 3 semesters left. I'm an English major. I know...it sounds like what every female does when she doesn't know what to do. But I really enjoy writing. I plan on entering the publishing world. That's my emphasis. Plus, it's easy to bullshit your way through a paper. It's not easy to do in math or science or any of the other areas. If you are good with words, you can pretty much convince anyone you know what you're talking about.
I'll admit right now, I care about words. Misspellings drive me bonkers. But I really couldn't care less about the grammatical side of things. I know the rules. I get that it's important, especially when editing and publishing. But for purposes of this blog, I don't care. Grammar has its place. But the blog-sphere is not one of them as far as I'm concerned.
Anyway, I live in a small rental house a few miles from campus. I used to have a roommate, but that didn't work out too well. I prefer to live alone anyway. I can do what I want when I want without any concern for anybody else. It's a nice way to live.
Right now I work for my dad. He runs a business out of Texas that provides services nationwide. I'm his contact for Washington. I basically schedule and keep track of clients on the West Coast. It's a nice gig, since I set my own hours and the income is steady. I've caught a lot of flack for living off of my parent's money. But technically the money is mine. I earn it...even if it does come from my dad. People say a lot though, and it never really bothers me. I'm debt free and in graduate school, bitches. Talk about that.
This has kind of turned into a long post. Sorry about that. I'm not really sure who I'm apologizing to for that...since I don't expect to have any readers besides myself. Sorry future me. If you wanted a short read, you're in for one hell of a surprise.
I guess that's enough for now. I don't want to jump into too much right off the bat. I'll ease into it slowly. Like slipping into a comfortable bed. You enjoy it. Slowly. Gently. If you're going to be in it for a while, you might as well take your time getting in.
That's all for now. I don't promise I'll be writing every day, but I'll try to keep current. See you next time!
--Lemi
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