I've been back in Atlanta for 3 weeks now. I'd originally planned to outline my move here on my blog, but as you all know, life comes at you fast. Typically, when I'm not in a good space, I don't write (except for when Pete died), so I just didn't have it in me. I'll probably talk about it in pieces here and there, but for now, I just won't. Don't get me wrong, L.A. was pretty dope, but there were other things that I had to contend with that were challenging. I'll leave it at that.
So anyway, when I got to L.A. a friend took mercy on me and allowed me to crash on her couch as I sought out housing. I anticipated being able to easily land an apartment in my price range, as I was making enough to live comfortably. The friend I lived with happened to live 1 hour away from my job. One hour there and one hour back. Which meant that I was spending 2 hours a day in my car. Not nearly as fun as it sounds. Eventually, I made the decision to get a hotel closer to the job.
It was then that I was able to spend time getting to know my new city. My last week in town, I grabbed some marijuana for a loved one who is currently battling cancer. And I figured, what the hell, may as well grab some edibles for myself, where I could legally enjoy it. And did I ever. A girlfriend and I spent one of my last nights there on the beach of Santa Monica, high as hell, staring at the moon and talking about life. It was incredible.
While there, my only thought of the future was finding immediate housing, and moving my beautiful son to the city with me. In Los Angeles, you don't really get the chance to forget that you are not one of the "haves" the way you can pretend in other cities. A coworker suggested that I get a condo in the city, and I balked. Shit, I was having a hard time getting a 2 bedroom apartment in Inglewood, how the hell was I supposed to get a condo?
Again, life kicked in, and it was time to bounce. My apartment search had proved fruitless, and school was starting back. I am also aware of the wolf that I had a child with, and I could tell that he was going to try to keep my child. I was angry, hurt, embarrassed, you name it. I was returning to the city I was tired of. But I didn't have time to think about that. I had to get back and set back up. The good about Atlanta is that it was pretty much always there. Or so I thought.
My plan was essentially to move on back, get some bullshit job to keep me afloat, get a cheap apartment, and regroup, with an intention of returning to Los Angeles the very first chance I got. What I hadn't anticipated was that many of the same housing issues that I'd had in Los Angeles had followed me to my hometown of Atlanta. This goddamn eviction moratorium proved to be a blessing to some and curse to others. Particularly a curse to me.
Los Angeles, which is already notoriously difficult to find housing in, has struggled even more under this stupid moratorium. Under it, people cannot be evicted for lack of paying rent. Resulting in many people sitting up and not paying rent. So fewer units are being flipped. So I moved cross country, ready to start my life, only to be further hindered by laws that are very short-sighted. I returned to Atlanta, only to be stopped again by the same fucking law. I've literally watched people in my hometown in the past go into an apartment leasing office and 2 days later be given a unit. I returned to Atlanta with roughly $4k in my pocket. I thought that getting an apartment and resuming business as usual would be a breeze, as it had always been in this city. But I was wrong.
I called apartment after apartment and was repeatedly told "we don't have any 2 bedroom apartments." How is this possible, I thought. Especially because I had cash in hand. Nope, apparently the rest of the world learned that Atlanta was the plug on cheap, available housing, so they came for the same reason that I came back. Ease. Only this influx of people took away the ease and created more difficulty for natives like myself.
I finally took to the mean streets of Facebook and asked if anyone had a plug on 2 bedroom apartments. Lo and behold, a classmate from CAU came through. I found an apartment, bigger and cheaper than my previous apartment. This also coincided with me finding a job as a pool monitor. Granted, the title isn't fancy, but it pays well until I would be able to land something in my field (which I just lucked up and did).
Anyway, as I slowly regroup (taking only a month to get back on my feet ain't bad, if I do say so myself), I've looked at the news about this moratorium and what it means long-term. I actually feel bad for some of the landlords. Don't get me wrong, a lot of these douchebags are just raising rent because they see an opportunity. Others are genuinely struggling with tenants who are just refusing to pay rent while struggling to maintain payments on their own homes.
As I straddle the line of what it all means, I've been looking at the real estate market (and how ridiculous things have been lately) only to discover that based on how things are looking, we may be looking at another housing bubble, and I'll be honest- I'm here for it! The last housing bust was roughly in 2008. Around that time, I was a new mother, struggling in countless ways. Some people had suggested that I buy a home, but both emotionally and financially, I was bound by things way bigger than myself. Truth is, had I even wanted that at the time, I was in no place mentally prepared for what that would entail.
I was in a highly toxic relationship with my son's father at the time, and I repeatedly suggested that we buy a home. He continued to shoot the idea down. I later learned that he bought a home close to the house where I grew up. I chuckled to myself, as he clearly thought this would destroy me, but the fact is that I wouldn't move back to that neighborhood if his life depended it on it. He bought a house similar to the one I grew up in. I saw his purchase as reverting to where I was in high school, not where I'm going as a grown woman. Yeah homie, enjoy my digs from 20 years ago, I'm moving on to bigger and better. It ain't hard to move into that neighborhood. There's nothing there that I want. It almost feels like the equivalent of buying leftovers of my childhood. Odd, but whatevs.
Anyway, I'm in a better space now. And I'm thankful for that. As I looked at apartments in Cali, I was surprised that landlords wanted people to have 700+ credit scores (for a crib in Inglewood for God's sake?!) and all these other credentials that I wasn't privy to. As I sped back to Atlanta, I swore to myself that when I returned, things would be different. My credit would be improved, and I've have the paperwork to show myself worthy of the listings I sought out. While in Denver, on my way back, I stumbled upon an article on Yahoo! about a 23-year-old woman who'd bought a business that seemed like a smart move. I took note and started looking up similar businesses in areas that I was interested in. As I drove on home, I continued to think about looking at my credit and making moves when I was settled. I also swore to myself that I'd finally obtain my LCSW (a social work license), making it easier for me to get a higher paying job in California or any other state I'd set my sights on. I already have my LMSW, but why not go for the gold while I can?
Now here I am. I move into my new apartment soon (so many thanks to the girlfriend that allowed myself and my son to crash with her, while I got it all back in line) and I start my new job in a few weeks. Another friend got me this good paying pool monitor job to allow me to make money until I'm back in my field. All of this happened in less than a month! Again, I'm beyond thankful.
Since I've been back, I've been paying more attention to my credit. I look at Credit Karma almost daily, obsessing about watching those numbers increase. I've started to pay down my credit cards, and have since even mutilated the last physical card that I did have, so that the temptation to use it for food and gas would be gone. I've seen my FICO score raise almost 70 points, although it is still below the goal that'd set for myself to achieve within the next 6 months. While doing nothing as a pool monitor, I've created budgets and crunched numbers to determine how long it will take me to pay down some accounts. If all goes well, I can have all of my extra stuff (including my car note) paid off within the next year. As angry as I was to be returning before, I hate to admit it, but the move has actually been good for me. Because had I not been forced to return, I wouldn't have started to look at my long-term financial health the way that I am now. It was a lesson that I needed and that I'm glad to receive.
As a woman who prides myself on being honest about my good and bad, I'll be honest. When I got back, I cried. A lot. I was angry. "It isn't fair!" I said to myself. It took a while, but I'd started to settle into my digs in California. I'd started to make friends, learned the freeways, established a routine, found the cutest little neighborhood by the beach I hope to move to, discovered a love for the occasional edibles, learned where the good shopping and neighborhoods were. Why did I have to leave?! I love my child immensely and I essentially left because with the eviction moratorium and the overall struggles with obtaining housing, I knew it wouldn't be fair to my son to live indefinitely in a motel or Airbnb. But I'd started to hang out with the other adults, who were either childless or their babies had grown and flown the nest. I partied late in the middle of Leimert Park, setting up my laptop in Sip & Sonder or Hot & Cool Cafe. But it had to end. Those last two weeks, when I was finally close to my job were the experience that I moved to Los Angeles for. And then, because I had to go be a mama, it was over.
My child turns 14 next month. Which means that for the next 3.5 years, his father is going to try to stick it to me over this stupid child support. Granted, its a decent amount, but not enough for him to tell everyone how that's all I care about. It's not like I'm balling out in Miami once a month on it. Ideally, I'd like to be in once place, allowing my son to flourish in high school. And I don't know where that will be. But I know that my ex will never get the opportunity to get that close to me again.
I returned to my ex trying to steal my child. Kind of emotional, I can't even get into it now. And for a brief moment, again, I thought to myself 'get the hell out of Atlanta, return to L.A. and continue living the good life.' I knew that I couldn't do that though. Leaving my child meant that my ex would continue to poison him against me, leaving my child to grow up as a miserable, woman-hating asshole, just like his father. And I love my child way too much to give up on him and let him become a monster, all because I wanted to drink margaritas on the beach. So I stayed, to fight for my son's mind and his heart.
And thankfully, my friends came together and helped me get him back. Quite frankly, when I returned, a small part of me wanted to hop back into my Honda, drive my ass right back to Los Angeles and leave it all behind again. Frankly, this was the bullshit that I'd left to begin with. The abuse. The lies. The blame. The pressure. It never ceases to amaze me that people are so hell bent on seeing me hurt. I'm human. There are one or two people who I could see wanting to destroy me. But the rest? Real talk? WHY?
I try not to harp on life not being fair. Even when I stomped like a spoiled child about how unfair it is that I had to return, I quickly countered to myself "Bitch, LIFE ain't fair!" as I've often reminded clients and friends. Sometimes, you just get a fucked up hand. And in spite of the fucked up circumstances I'm often given, I've done well, if I do say so myself. I obtained a master's degree, as a single mother, my child is happy and healthy, I love myself unconditioinally, I've traveled, made love to beautiful men, have the most bad ass group of friends a woman can ask for, I have a great sense of humor, and I'm a pretty pleasant person to be around. Yeah, I've done pretty good.
And while I've done a lot of work on myself to be a better person and be able to sleep well at night, I never marvel to wonder about the amount of people who wholly fixate on bringing me misery. I just really don't get that shit. Sometimes I think about the people (they know who they are) who continue to pop up and just be a general pain in the ass. Whether it be my ex, who tried to steal my child, as a dig at me, not even because he wanted him, only because he wanted to hurt me, which he did. The same dude that was practically begging me to go to counseling with him last year tried to steal my son this year and he can't seem to understand why his life is shit. I know that tacky ass bitch is still stalking me (yes bitch, you, I'm not even going to say your name, but you know who the fuck you are). My family still pops up to bring drama. And as I arrived back in Atlanta to face the bullshit again, all I could think to myself is that this is what I moved away from. And in L.A. I didn't encounter it. But the second I stepped back into Atlanta, the fuckery welcomed me with open arms. I hate it here.
Sometimes I think about that whole concept of letting someone occupy space in your head "rent free." I understand the concept, although I never prescribed it to others. But I understand whole heartedly what it means. That you're giving all of this emotional and mental space to another human being, when that person doesn't even deserve that space. And here I am. I often occupy space in people's heads, and I honestly don't get it.
While I stopped in St. Louis, on my way back to Atlanta, I stopped by the arch and did a video. People tend to like my travel videos, but I don't get it. While doing my quick vid, I made the statement "I'm not that fascinating" and I meant it. I don't think I'm fascinating at all. All I do is live my life to the best of my ability. That's it. I do what makes me happy, while trying my damnedest not to impede upon the happiness and success of others. I cheer people on. Even though my ex has been abusive to me, when his dumb angry ass was sitting up with a broken heart last year, I tried to cheer him on. I was online the other day and a woman talked about a recent loss and how she's barely holding on, and I immediately inboxed her to offer words of encouragement. We ended up chatting for an hour and said that we'd like to meet up one day to get coffee.
I don't get the vitriol and negativity that comes from other people. I don't think about my ex. I was recently talking to a potential paramour and explained to him that I wish my ex would get married, have all the babies, and move on with is fucking life already. I wish toxic ass family members would stop contacting me, acting nice, and then being shitty when I tell them for the umpteenth time that we don't have shit to talk about. I'm clearly taking up real estate in these people's minds, and I wish that I wasn't. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I wish you healing, because I don't care that much. I wish you'd forget that I'm here. MOVE THE FUCK ON.
My goals in life entail purchasing a home with this credit that I'm already improving on, possibly purchasing a business, and moving back to Los Angeles, once the market dictates that it's right. My personal goals are about obtaining housing and peace, be it here, or on the other side of the continent. I don't know what other people's goals are, and I don't care, because that's not my business. But whoever you are, and where ever you are, the fact remains that I'm really not that fascinating. Time for you to put me out of your head and find something more worthwhile to put your energy into.
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