Our Laundry, Ourselves
The Boy gave me a goodbye kiss and went to work this morning; he always wakes me for that kiss, and I always notice, even if I'm still sound asleep. Today I was more coherent than usual, having fallen asleep around 11:00 last night. So I grabbed his pillows, used them instead of my own, and lay awake in the bliss of a silent apartment (silent except for, of course, the sound of two kitties playing) for about thirty minutes, before myself arising and entering the land of the living.
I then wandered into uncharted territory. I've been in the basement of The Boy's complex before - many times, in fact - but never without him by my side. I have a thing about basements, you see. They scare me, when alone. But this morning I needed to throw in some laundry, so I made my way down the two flights of stairs and faced my silly-little-girl fears. A dark basement filled with dark corridors - myself blindly fumbling with my fingers to flick on the light switches, wandering through the maze of storage units, and finding the small laundry room, also unlit.
It was too quiet down there. And the washer wouldn't start, so I had to spend more time than I was comfortable with. I could feel the panic setting in - the hyperventilation about to begin - and then a beep from my cell phone (yes, always cautious, I take it with me, even to the basement - one can never know for sure what dangers may lurk) notifies me that I'm now roaming. I fuck with the washer a bit longer and finally it starts up.
As I'm leaving the laundry room, I turn off the lightswitch again. I run through the corridor, past the storage compartments, and open another door, switching off another lightswitch behind me before bolting up the stairs as fast as I can as if there's someone chasing me. On the second floor, I arrive breathlessly at the apartment door, open it, shut and lock it behind me, and collapse on the floor. The kitties look at me like I'm nuts. I laugh out loud and think to myself, "When did I become such a pussy?"
And it's a valid question. Have I become so accustomed to the security of a man beside me everywhere I go that I am unable to enter a basement alone, in a secured-entry building, nonetheless? Or is it something else, something that's always been there that has absolutely nothing to do with The Boy not being by my side? Either way - what does this fear say about me? If I figure it out, I'll let you know...
Until then, it's back to the basement to transfer my clean clothes to the dryer...eek! Maybe I'm just afraid of ending up in the land of lost socks...
I was stuck in the nightmarish realm of my subconcious from about 2:00 am until 3:00 pm today, as I slept and repeatedly, unsuccesfully, tried to wake. The nightmares centered upon a location that used to pretty much be the center of my existence, though in the dream, the building was much different, as well as the city the place was located. Basically, it was a slaughterfest. People I had considered friends, even lovers, were being massacred by some murderous mastermind that was always one step ahead of me and the rest who made it out alive. We would think we had it figured out, and then there would be another body, or another cryptic message. It was perhaps the most unsettling dream of my 24 years. I'm still shaken. The main recurring images of the dream were broken windows, rooftops, dead grass, cement stairwells (both indoors and outdoors), and ice. I did not like this one - not a bit. I'm still looking over my shoulder...
Curiosity killed the cat...luckily the cat has nine lives.
Because I'm far too curious, I googled "Layla X" to see if my old blog had been referred to anywhere. I came upon
this. It's always interesting to see how people perceive you. I had never thought of myself as such a downer. I guess we can never really see ourselves the way others see us...different lifestyles, different backgrounds, different beliefs all factor into how we see other people. That's what makes life so fucking interesting - learning about the differences between "I" and "insert name here."
And what a long way she's come...
One year ago tonight I was slumped on my couch, having to use my chin to push buttons on my phone to try to call a friend for help after I snorted a pile of what turned out to be (and this has finally been confirmed, after much confusion) heroin. It was my low point. A disaster of my own making. Two days earlier, I'd conceived a child with a shitbag that I loved, and didn't know it. Two months later, I would have an abortion. All of that was in a past life.
Now I'm good. I'm happy and healthy, on my feet, reading a lot, contemplating anything and everything at all hours of night and day, and trying to get my creativity to kick back in. My one source of stress is lack of income - I work one short day shift a week, and only bring in about $800 a month - that's not good. But with no work history or references, there's not a lot I can do to change that. Hopefully, writing will be my salvation.
If not, at least I'm smiling and have a supportive, caring partner by my side - perhaps the first time in my life I can say that and not be deluding myself.
But, I know by now not to put all of my eggs in one cliched egg basket. Friends and lovers are grand, but they are not everything. Depending on myself, being resourceful, and trusting my instincts are the most important things I can do - I try to always keep that in mind now, after having had so many people who "cared" about me disappear with no goodbye and no return.
There's a fine line between trust and blind faith. Things often fail to turn out the way we plan them, and I finally accept that. When the moment dies, we must trudge on anyway, and find new moments to look back on.
Life has been great to me so far - every part of it. Even the bad was good. Sometimes the worst was the best, in that I actually learned something about myself and the world, and most of all, about human nature as a whole.
Anyway, today there's not much to say - I am heading into the shower to cleanse myself of sleep's residue. Yes, I slept all day - and I probably will tomorrow. But what's so wrong with that?
My favorite way to spend my time...
is with The Boy:
I've been with him for about 5 and a half months, and he hasn't been anything short of wonderful. It's nice to have found someone who is so much like me that he understands my mini-breakdowns, or even my major ones, and knows exactly what to do to calm or comfort me, whether it be with a big bear hug, or by making me laugh, or by simply giving me space and time to cool off. Yes, The Boy is definitely a keeper...
Resurrected:
And what better time than Easter? Yes, that's right, I'm back. So to all of you who missed this blog, formerly known as "Layla X: Diary of a Deviant" and then "Layla: Diary of a Life in Progress," before I killed it altogether...you're in luck because this address is the only location that seems to ignite my desire to write. I might not post often, but bear with me...I've been gone for awhile and need to put on my training wheels. The last time I was here, I disregarded the privacy of the people in my life...the aftermath was not pretty, and I am sorry for anyone who felt exploited by my writing. My philosophy then was that anything that happens in my life is fair game to write about. Now, I'm more about discretion and recognizing people's boundaries, whether they've asked me to or whether they're completely in the dark altogether about my writing - hence, the use of aliases and not too many telling details about the characters I come in contact with. I've come to realize that truth is still truth even when it's edited. For the most part, personal reflection is where I'm at these days. And so...let the blogging commence!
