Los Angeles

So yeah, I did a thing. I made a move. Not just to a different side of town, but to a different side of the country, to a completely different coast. It was definitely time. 

I knew that I wanted out last year, when I returned from my cross country trip. I enjoyed seeing different areas, and the freedom that came with it. We were still in the thick of the pandemic, so I also got to see how various cities handled things. I saw Oklahoma City, where damned near no locals wore a mask (also where they suspect Herman Caine got the bug at a 45 rally) and California, where damned near everything except Target was shut down. It was a long, but beautiful trip. And just after I returned to Atlanta, it was in the news that the freaking hick of a governor, Brian Kemp, was planning to sue Atlanta's mayor, Keisha Lance Bottoms, over mask mandates. 

I don't know what it was, but that was it. I was outraged at how that gullible redneck could sue Atlanta's mayor, a Black woman, for mask mandates designed to keep people safe and save lives, after he'd just gotten back from a statewide tour where he encouraged people to wear masks. I was done. I didn't know how, but I knew that it was time to move and that Los Angeles would be it. At the time I was getting unemployment (that nice little chunk of $800 a week) and my plan was to continue to not work and save the unemployment, so that I could move at the beginning of 2021. But what I didn't anticipate was that TPTB would continue to drag their feet on extending the unemployment. By the end of August, I knew it was a wrap and I needed a new job.

I saw a job that was listed as a drug residential treatment facility, working with women. I didn't think I'd get it, but I did. I got the job! I was elated. I could finally use my personal experience to help women, much like myself, who'd struggled. Granted, I never had a drug problem, but I still knew what it was like to struggle emotionally. 

Things started out well. They liked me and I liked them. I felt comfortable among the crew. The clients and I got on famously and I felt welcomed among my peers. But in the new year of 2021, things started to shift. I'll be honest, I started slacking on my job. But I also got sick. I honestly thought I had the bug for a second. I had fevers, body aches, nausea, fatigue. And it wasn't just a flu bug either. My boss initially seemed sympathetic to my plight, but quickly it showed that she didn't really care. I was made to come in to work, because I had no positive COVID test, despite the fact that I felt like utter trash. When I returned, sick as heck, my boss was giving the silent treatment. There I am, propping myself up, having a 99.4° temperature. Then my boss laid into me pretty heavily in a staff meeting. What pissed me off the most was that I dragged my sick ass into work, just to be criticized in a group setting. Not cool. Then my boss made a few slick comments that were directed at me, although she declined to identify that she was talking to me. I went home and knew what time it was. 

I came back to work the following day, but this time I didn't take any fever reducers and I didn't take any cough drops. You want Malika sick at work, you got her. I'm not traditionally a woman that tries to get others sick, but here we go. I was coughing up a lung the whole time. Eventually my coworker went to my boss to basically say that I needed to go home. Pretty sure that my coworkers also didn't want me coughing all over them. And I looked like hell. My boss came to me immediately and pulled me out of the group I was in. She had the gall to ask "why didn't you tell me you were sick?" as if I hadn't literally sent her a picture of the fevered thermometer the day before. I was then released to go home. 

When I went home, I pondered over how I was treated while sick. Granted, my COVID tests came up negative, but that didn't negate the fact that whatever bug I had was definitely winning the battle. I decided to talk to my boss and to apologize for dropping the ball at work and to basically tell her that she'd hurt my feelings with her response to my sickness. And while we were in a better space after I'd owned that I dropped the ball, when I told her that I was hurt by her response, she pretty much responded with essentially "I'm sorry you feel that way." I again knew what time it was.

I just realized that I'm getting way too wordy about my previous job, so I'll move along. The pendulum continued to swing, with me feeling like things were coming together, and feeling like I hated my job. Around April, I decided that it was really time to start executing on a move. Which is kind of impressive, because I just realized that was only 2 months ago. I began to apply for jobs in the Los Angeles area. But I was frustrated to see that many of the jobs either didn't pay me what I felt I needed to make the move, they required me to speak Spanish, which I do not, or they required experience and qualifications that I do not have.

I applied for roughly 4+ jobs a day for about 3 weeks. Things were beginning to look hopeless. At that point, I started to look seriously at Las Vegas instead. The cost of living was lower, and if I couldn't be in L.A. or California, a 4 hour drive didn't seem so bad.

But then, out of nowhere, it happened! The call finally came. They wanted me! They liked me!! And most importantly, they paid my asking price!! It felt like a dream. Next up... start packing to move. After living in the same apartment for roughly 8 years, you'd probably not be surprised to learn that there is a lot of shit accumulated to declutter. 

And so dear reader, I've been stuck in this same place (working on this particular blog post) for literally months now. I'm going to leave this here and pick up later. Enjoy.