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Beverly Hills Knee

  Some people get Tennis Elbow, and some get Swimmer’s Ear, but I have Beverly Hills Knee. I was sharing a single bedroom in a small ranch house next to the I-405 in Venice Beach. My portion of the rent was $450.00 a month. Although I had a vehicle, it took longer for me to brave freeway traffic to my job in Beverly Hills in my car than it took for me to bicycle along the famous Santa Monica Beach and up through the ritzy city blocks of Wilshire Blvd.  The view was better by bike, and being able to zoom past infamous locations seen on screen throughout my childhood was one of the only positives of being exiled from Oregon.  When you’re in your 20’s you have no limits to what you can physically do. I was not into sports, but I did love cycling and rollerblading and at that point in my life I was lean, tan and strong. So rather than sit in traffic, unlike the vast population in Los Angeles, I often chose to commute by bike to work. This was about 2 years after losing 90...
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Three Men Nearly Ended Me

The first place I lived alone was a tiny old 1 bedroom apartment on the main floor of a dilapidated old former logger bunkhouse right on Tacoma Street, across from the strip club and right at the base of the failing Sellwood Bridge. It was the first rental application I used with my old name, from before the marriage. It was only in my name. I would like to say I paid for the $500.00 deposit to move in, but it was paid by my ex-boyfriend’s parents to secure new housing for me and my 7 year old son after he had thrown a solid glass candlestick at my head and scared me nearly to death with the hole it left in the plaster, and the closeness it came to cracking my skull.     This random bout of near lethal violence right after a brutal custody trial was an unbearable betrayal that I did not take on quietly. If I wasn’t safe with him, I was not going to live there. So I called his parents and asked for a safe place for my son and I to sleep until I could find another place t...
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The Derelict Daughter

     There were early indications I'd be a problem in the Hall household. In 1983 I was nine years old and was getting ready to go back to public school after my parents pulled us out of the public school system for my entire 5th grade. I spent that school year either in the dubious Learning Tree “private school” run by my parent’s church friends, The Brilliants, and then the remainder was spent at home because it didn’t take more than a semester before organizationally and financially falling apart. My parents chose to homeschool the 3 school age kids (while also caring for 1 toddler and 1 infant) for the rest of the school year. My Lost Year, educationally. I was reading at a 9th grade level and The Learning Tree was only teaching 1st grade basic arithmetic, so although I missed the boat on learning fractions and decimals, I devoured Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff being a clear harbinger for the type of men I would later seek out. If my mother were to reflect back to...
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Literal Chronic Health Condition

     I’ve seen the look on my manager’s faces when they are straining to understand what they are looking at. I’m sure they are perplexed, annoyed and sometimes exasperated while I sit across from them fighting back tears from my own frustration over why I am needing to be counseled and it makes the whole thing even worse. I am often at a loss over where to start- explaining myself not as an excuse for my behavior but as an attempt to be understood is often inadequate and not received well because it’s a long story. Here, in front of them there is a person who is passionate about the job, competent, self-realized, responsible, punctual and adaptable, the person they usually see is affable and charming and capable. But they don’t know that the reasonably good employee they hired is not the only person behind those green eyes looking back at them.       I’m sitting in their office receiving a correction because the other Emily made an appearance somewher...
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