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Las Vegas was the place I was most comfortable in, but I really had no resources there, which means my decision to go there was flawed.  From a totally economic view, I would have been better off going to Arizona, where at least I still had family.

I rented a truck under false pretenses (not saying how, as it has no bearing on my life then or now) and put everything I owned, once again, into the back of it, along with a lot of stuff that belonged to my roommate.  I had enough money for the trip and for the first month of storage, but from then on, I was at the mercy of the powers that be in charge of housing, jobs and finances.

I called an old friend of mine and told her I was going to a homeless shelter, since I had no money.  She told me I could sleep in her den, and came to pick me up.

She had gotten married since last I saw her and had a very cute baby girl.  I watched the baby to use up some of the debt, but I also filed for unemployment until I could find a job.  

The bus system in Vegas at the time, was nothing at all like Los Angeles, and I found that if I worked, it had to be a job that was within the limited boundaries of the bus.  It was loosely based on a "circular" system, meaning that no matter where you were, the bus you took would eventually end up at the Downtown Transportation Center, or DTC, and with a transfer, you would board another bus and hopefully, be taken to your destination.  All the buses were scheduled to get into the DTC at a specific time, and then we could transfer to the buses we needed.  If one bus was late getting in, ALL the buses were late going out.  The exception to this rule was the Strip Bus.  It operated solely on the Strip, and seldom did buses intersect this route, if at all.  We all had to have transfers, which meant (for me) a 14-hour day just to put in an eight-hour day at work.

When I had begun receiving unemployment, I looked for a permanent place to live, and because of the pressure from the gal I was staying with, I took the first place I found.  It was a "built-on" room in a mobile home park and I paid $238 a month for a room with a shower.  Period.  I paid for my phone and brought along my microwave, and that was "home."

Then I realized that in my eagerness to find a place, I had neglected to ask the right questions of my landlord.  Come to find out, I was making the total of his mobile home mortgage for him.  His income was all his.  And all my income was supplementing him.  What a burn.  I began looking for another place and asked the clerk at the local Circle K if he knew of any cheap places to rent.

It just so happened, he had a 3-bedroom, 2-bath house, and he was the only occupant.  So I agreed to rent from him for $200 a month, utilities and kitchen privileges included.  This was in September of 1992.  In the meantime, I had found a job at a music store, and though I didn't really like it, it kept me from going to a homeless shelter.

I was in that house about two months, though I can't say for sure how long exactly, and the owner said he wanted to help me with my rent.  I was willing to listen, as he might have something good going for me.  HAH!  He asked me if I would "do" three of his friends for the rent!  What the heck had I gotten myself into?

Not only no, but heckno.  So I found another acquaintance who said his wife would be more than happy to have me, if I would agree to watch the kid when she needed it, remembering my work schedule.  Since I had spent four weeks with the Clark County Fire Department in the payroll section, I knew that my supervisor there was a good person to contact.

I called her.  No, her current roommate was unacceptable, but there was nothing to be done at the moment.  *sheesh*  I was three weeks at the "baby-sitting" place and found an ad for a roomie that seemed to be a little better, and was a little closer to the music store.  So I took my bed and left.  Horrors!

Two weeks after I moved in, the roomie tried to rape me saying it was his "due," for putting up with me.  I called my friend at the firehouse again and she told me her roomie had just moved out and I could move in whenever I wanted. 

(Bear in mind, when you read this, that I'm not deliberately trying to give you a glimpse into the seamier parts of my life.  I am trying, instead, to tell you of the stresses that led to the worst of my symptoms.)

I tried to turn this guy in to Metro (Las Vegas Metropolitan Police) but they blew it off.  I sat in the chair and tears fell down my cheeks.  I didn't sob, I didn't go into hysterics, I didn't beat my chest and moan, I didn't dress in sackcloth and cover my face with ashes.  I just quietly fell apart. 

And called a friend with a truck who would help me move my things out of storage and into the garage of my roommate for the next three years. 

The first weeks there, I found myself with a low-grade fever, and aches in my joints.  Although I didn't realize it at the time, my thoughts were disjointed, I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't spell, and I had some unusual headaches.  The headaches felt like someone was sticking a hot ice pick into my brain.

I also found that the things I did to pass the time at the bus stops were difficult, at best.  I would work crossword puzzles.  But I couldn't recall even the easiest word substitions.  What was happening?

Shortly after the New Year of 1993, I was told by the owner of the music store I worked at that I was being let go because of "a reduction in forces."  Actually, he let me go because his wife didn't like the fact that I had my nails done every week, but she knew I could sue if she let me go any sooner.  She didn't think I could type, and she had wanted someone "older."  Now THERE'S a switch!

Stay tuned...the worst is yet to come

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I think I spent the next few days crying for Reginald Denny and also for the circumstances that had me in Inglewood during the riots I had no control over.  I was having a Pity Party, to be sure! 

Every day, I was afraid to venture outside because I was at 109th and Crenshaw...almost in the heart of the riots.  I was a white face in a sea of blackness.  The good thing was that those in the little shopping square across the street (The M and M Cafe drew many people in Rolls Royces and big Mercedez-Benzes) had seen me and knew that I was "at risk."

My roomie came down to see if his car was OK.  It was.  He left it in my care.  I was unemployed, with no car, no phone and nowhere to go.  I smelled the smoke from burning businesses and ran outside periodically to make sure the garages were still safe. 

I heard a rumbling coming up Crenshaw, and had no clue.  So I unlocked the security door to see a bevy/throng/battallion of motorcycles going north up the boulevard.  Believe it or not, Hell's Angels and other biker clubs came together to patrol the streets.  I was still scared, but I was also relieved to know "SOMEONE" was there for ME!  It was a night that seemed to last forever.  And somewhere around midnight, I heard more big motors.

Since I was mostly sleepless, being unemployed and with no lifelines, I went back out onto the porch and saw, much to my surprise, an entire convoy of Humvees and other military vehicles, and I knew, as they passed in the next 30 minutes, that I was going to be okay.  The US National Guard had been called out to patrol the streets and make sure folks like me were still alive and in no danger. 

As the days went by, I realized I would survive this latest challenge, though I realized also that I was estranged from both of my children and most of my siblings.  Both of my parents had passed on 20 and 40 years before, so there was no support available for me that I could see. 

And it was very plain to me that in spite of scoring 100% on the DOS and Lotus 1-2-3 tests that Norell gave me, I knew there were to be no jobs for me in Southern California.  My choice, for good or ill, was to move back to Las Vegas, and try to find work.  At least I might be able to find enough temporary work to keep me from starving.  But I also needed to find a place to live. 

Some of my symptoms were becoming obvious again:  fatigue, achy joints, short-term memory, confusion, inability to concentrate, math and spelling skill were compromised and I found that even simple decisions were excruciatingly difficult.  My vision began to blur, and I had a hard time reading.