Realtors and Friends

Thirty five years ago (or so), I'd have about 7 beers after work at Sprague Electric.  Always got up for work the next day.  For the past fifteen years I was with a startup company.  One year ago, I made the decision to leave that comfy job.  To me, it wasn't challenging enough.  After we got this new engineering manager, my level of responsibility sank like a stone.

By December, (three months after leaving the job) I was no longer able to control my diabetes, and ended up in the ER a couple times.  Early January, I got a DUI.  Later on, I had 3 more ER visits, one of which I was lucky to come home from.    Mix in two driving after suspension of license charges, and two months in the house of correction, and I came home to a new (to me) world.  With a pile of bank foreclosure letters on the kitchen table, and, having spent all my money on lawyers, and a "Life Part II" vacation in the Florida Keys, I was selling items at junk shops to afford to get a pre-paid cell phone.  I could blame it all on those 3 months of having out of control blood sugar mixing my head up, but I'm pretty sure that years of beers after work played a pretty big part.

Enter the Realtor.  (I wonder who demanded that my spell checker capitalize the word.  It doesn't make me capitalize Engineer.  I'll bet it was the realtors.)   I had signed a contract to sell the place before the bank takes it, and since, have learned from friends, other Realtors, and lawyers that the commission, if adjusted by a few percent, could mean the difference between me coming out positive or negative.  The Realtor is an old high school classmate, and he understood my situation, and offered advice as a friend.   One piece of advice was to do all I could with respect to replacing linoleum and carpet.  Still haven't gotten to that, but I may.  Another piece of advice was to get the place ready to show, to clean up the clutter.  I, being who I am, started to do that, but looking at the place from a buyer's perspective, also starting to do things that should have been done years ago.  Fixing interior doors that had been punched in, mudding the patches in the interior walls that were poorly done the last time someone added curb appeal., and painting. 

Today, before getting to the painting, the filling dents in the walls, and cleaning the bathroom ceramic tiles that had been covered up for quick sale with 1/32 inch shower liner, I decided to set up the stereo receiver that had sat idle for months.  Over the last thirty five years, I had lost the attraction for music.  I remember, back in the day, I even called music a crutch, something that made life a whole lot better than day to day working in a plastic factory.  So, here I was, appreciating some music through a pair of homemade speakers that still sound great, and the phone rang.  It was the Realtor.  When I told him the place was not yet show ready, he got a bit irritated.  One thing led to another, and when he started getting judgmental on a personal level, the phone somehow disconnected.  According to www.actihealth.com. my blood pressure fell from 158 / 88 with a 115 pulse in February to 104 / 62 with a pulse of 69 in September.  I didn't check it today, but it might have gone back up to about the February level.   

Serenity now sound clip  George's Answering Machine sound clips

He left, and thankfully the pounding in my head went away, after I called the bank's attorney and learned that they had nothing on record saying that they have any right to talk to him, but they had a record of a call from him, with no details of giving out any information (and they record everything).  I got back to enjoying 1477 Wachusett St. and all it's mundane tasks.  I started scraping the adhesive off the ceramic tiles that were previously covered with 1/32 inch of high quality plastic.  When the razor slipped, and I considered the wisdom of risking another emergency room visit, I remembered to call Tufts to sign up for health insurance, which I've been waiting for months to get from the unemployment office, but they don't return my calls.   It had finally dawned on me that I can afford it for now, even without DUA assistance.  It was just another one of many procrastination things, distracting me from the curb appeal effort.