Keep on Bloggin'

Keep on Bloggin’

©2010 by LeeZard

Back in February my barrister wisely counseled that I (temporarily) shut down LeeZard on Life while job hunting. Reluctantly, I agreed. LeeZard often writes openly about many personal issues, issues that aren’t really the business of prospective employers.

But, LeeZard also misses blogging and, as I approach two years of under-employment, I am willing to take what I consider the minimal risk of returning to the blogosphere. if you Google LeeZard’s real name (What? You didn’t know LeeZard wasn’t my real name?), this blog never appears. So, let’s catch up before we re-embark on my life journey through LeeZard colored glasses.

I wish I had a lot of good stuff to report since last we blogged but so far the arrow still points mostly south. Let’s start with the good stuff.

Thankfully, I am still blessed to have my sobriety (4,407 days as I write this) and the wonderful Wende (TWBGF) in my life. Her love, emotional support and sometimes-mutual wackiness keep me going without falling into the pits of despair. Why despair you might ask? Let us count the ways (not whining here, just faithfully reporting the good, the bad and the ugly).

As mentioned above, I’m still looking for that elusive gig and the clock keeps on ticking; at this point, each passing month makes it harder for someone of my years to get hired. That’s the reality. I’ve had few interviews but when I do interview, I do well. Keep hearing the term “over qualified” a lot. I still think it means “too old” but that’s just moi.

As a result, Chateau LeeZard is no more. I hate clichés but buying the townhouse was the perfect storm of bad timing. I closed in late 2007, about a month before the bottom fell out of the housing market and a couple of months before someone actually noticed – or bothered to tell us – we were in a serious recession. It also was four months before record-setting rains damaged an earthen dam on the Green River (the river is a block from my place), causing leakage where the dam meets the river bank.

The dam was built in the 1950s to control annual and catastrophic flooding in the valley. After the damage, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers announced it would have to release more water than usual from behind the dam and, in the event of serious rains, greatly increase the chances for, you guessed it, catastrophic floods. This came on the heels of news that the levees along the river were deteriorating and there wasn’t enough money to repair them all.

The powers-that-be decided that thousands of large ugly black plastic enclosed sandbags along the length of the threatened valley – and on its wonderful hiking/biking trail – would do the trick. While property values throughout the region began their steady fall, ours in the valley began to drop like a big rock in the river.

One year after I bought the condo, I began my under employment, although I prefer to call it my new career as a consultant-without-clients. Does this sound like whining yet? Wait, I’m just getting started.

Shortly before I lost my job, a degenerative back condition rendered me unable to walk. It took two surgeries to get me back on my feet. Unfortunately, I was falling off my feet financially.

I’d been able to meet all my obligations with the combination of unemployment benefits and my emergency stash – mutual funds, the remains of my 401k, etc. By July 2009, however, I was on my ass and had to notify my lender I could no longer pay the mortgage. Foreclosure loomed. In fact I was literally days from the bank auction when a last minute short sale offer arrived. Looks like it will close soon, averting the dreaded “F” word. The offer is for $140K less than I paid for the unit.

Okay, even I’m getting tired of hearing all this bad joo-joo but wait, there’s more. My 28-year old son got married Memorial Day weekend. I wasn’t invited. And, this is the lad who wouldn’t pop the question until he talked it over with Dad. Then, last November he cut off communication with no warning and no explanation. He merely stopped returning calls, emails, texts, chats, anything. What happened?

After a few frustrating and agonizing months I learned from a professional (and an expert in treating alcoholic families) that children of alcoholics usually don’t begin to deal with their issues until they near 30 and, when they do begin that process they start to uncover long buried – and often angry – feelings. This, she explained, often results in “a cessation of communication that could last for years.” Whoopdeefuckendoo.

Ten days before the wedding he sent me a letter, telling me in the most hateful, hurtful and insulting manner possible that I wasn’t invited. Do ya think I hadn’t already figured that out?

I may be a recovered alcoholic but it’s the disease that keeps on giving. Fortunately, it is the tools that I’ve learned in recovery that help me every day to deal with every day. This is why I may go through brief hours or, in one case, days of despair but always reemerge with the faith that I will be okay and the strength to do the next indicated thing(s).

And, finally, last Friday I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. So, I will close for now, with the following little ditty. In the meantime, watch this space for the return of the usual LeeZard antics.

Hi Sugar

Hi Sugar, high sugar.

It’s not very sweet.

I’ve got Diabetes,

Must watch what I eat.

It’s not a surprise

And, yet I feel shocked.

It’s in my gene pool

But my world has been rocked.

I got it from dad,

And from his mom, Molly

And on my mom’s side

It was Grandpa, by golly.

It’s “only” Type Two

Says cousin Roberta.

She ought to know.

Type One

Tries to hurt her.

It’s the best of the worst

Though she’s not dismissive.

She says of the two

Type Two’s less invasive.

Nonetheless I feel changed.

Bad things can arrive

Unless I do things

To help me survive.

So sweet sugar dear

Do not despair.

I’ll watch my high sugar

And live life with care.