Where should I start?

 

At the end. I have been up and down the west coast, back and forth across the united states.

And here I sit, after complaining of upper respitory infection virus, no emergency room would declare contagious nor too dangerous to travel, having survived being tested positive.

This was after I it was inconclusive and after a dozen attempts to nail me for the dreaded disease. I did everything I could, while traveling I used my own cups and water bottles. I used hand sanitizers, insisted on being in the down stairs handicap section where I was less likely to come into contact with children.

I was even reported by a man for wearing a head scarves. He went to the bathroom on the lower deck and I was still dressed for the outdoors, with the large scarf wrapped around my head and shoulders. I often wore a scarf in those years, around my neck in layers to keep my lower face from being exposed. 

I actually had to remove my face covering because a  man using the facilities had spied it inside the enclosed handicap section. I was disturbed by this incident and brought the paper work on my medical condition but reported I was allowed to travel which satisfied the conductor who had returned. 

One can be removed from a train without a return ticket and dumped in a foreign location or domestic city with no place to sleep nor a way of continuing without permission from the conductor.

Now I had to go into a isolation unit which was a single hotel room with a bathroom and no window to open. I had to keep the door closed and not have a television with a signal on anything except sports. My food was not delivered properly and I began to run a temperature after I was provided a place.

Unlike Malia's family who could not afford a hotel, the poor are provided places when they qualify. The treatment is bare minimal and the second test they said was positive. I never have received a actual paper report on any of the tests I have taken.

I thought I was going to die for a few days in the middle of my ten day ordeal. 101 temp and lack of oxygen. I told the nurses on the phone but unless one is dead they don't come to your room. Just stay inside until your time is done and don't die. 

I did not die, I came out on my ten days still coughing and light headed. I wish Mr. Emmanuel gets better treatment in France than I got. I hear Mr. Boris got a hospital room, which is now in short supply.

I also had to go back to a cot for a few days even though I was promised a new lodging. It took a few phone calls and a lot quiet wailing in the back corner, but the right person ordered a reprieve.

Those of us who had missed our bus the week earlier where provided a second chance. We were given less than 24 hours to pack and be ready at 7 am with our luggage. At 9 am we were escorted onto a bus, one at a time. 

I wont go into detail but we did get to our destination where we had to sign leases agreeing to everything under the sun. I am now checked into a hotel for homeless people. Instead of a homeless shelter which promised housing.

The cost of a two room hotel unit with a door separating the kitchenette, a microwave and hot plate and the bathroom with a bed is 1600 dollars a month. 

This after spending two years due to having no work history and no bank accounts and a bunch of children riding on my identity who clearly are not my children. I hear even Malia is listed as one of my unknown children.

It is not amnesia I have but the suspicion that there are criminals using the system for their own children to keep track of upper class persons. My mother always claimed to have gone to Vassuer and I thought I had got into a few Ivy league schools myself.

Well, who ever is using my identification on multiple levels need to know who many dozen children there are listed and that none of them are going to make a better deal than Meagan who ruined my life in DC where there is no longer a house to return. 

But I have a place to stay and perhaps with an emotional support certificate I can get one of my cats out of the pawn shop.