Adrenal Fatigue Syndrome?

OK, anything with the word 'syndrome' in it is suspect, as far as I'm concerned. (Though I definitely had chronic fatigue syndrome about twenty years ago and it was a drag. So to speak.)

But this was the money shot for me:

Generally patients who present with adrenal fatigue can often be heard saying, "After______, I was never the same."

So, with the three-and-a-half year ordeal of the Eviction, Exile and Return, I figured it would take me a while to recover. But I'm not.

I got shaky. I cut out caffeine. I was getting amazing stomach cramps about half an hour after eating dairy products. Cut them out. Out of the blue anxiety attacks. Started yoga again. Light-headed, heart palpitations. Didn't know what to do about those.

Today, lightbulb moment. Several years ago docs found I have an enlarged adrenal gland. ('Twas incidental discovery from CAT-scan for something else.) Got sent to an endocrinologist who in turn sent me for biannual ultrasounds to see what was going on until we both got bored.

Lightbulb: anxiety/shakiness = adrenalin! Googled.

Symptoms:

Common symptoms of most adrenal gland disorders include lightheadedness; tendency to gain weight; lack of energy in the mornings; difficulty concentrating; poor memory; chronically high stress levels; reduced sex drive; mild depression; dry and thin skin; unexplained hair loss; heart palpitations; dyspepsia; constipation; hypoglycemia (low blood sugar); food allergies; and high frequency of the flu or infections.

I don't have all of those, thank the goddess, but a lot of them.

As I read more -- and from the iffier side of the intertoobz -- I was thinking: hell, this is flaky, sounds like something my sister-in-law would get and bore the shit out of everybody talking about.

The remedy is très flaky too.

So. Anybody got experience? Opinion?

I'm Baaaack!

In the midst of the horror that is Haiti and the mounting disgust that Canadians are demonstrating towards Stevie the Spiteful, a diversion/update of a personal sort.

Remember back in March I got evicted?

Then in July, it looked like I was going to get evicted from my temporary sanctuary. Mercifully, that was 'all a big mistake' -- on the bloody landlord's part -- so, never mind.

It was always my intention to return to my apartment when the renovations 'so extensive as to require vacant possession' (terms the Ontario Residential Tenancy Act uses) were complete. Two of the other three tenants who fought the eviction intended to return as well.

We pay the same rent as before -- the big incentive -- but are subject to an Above Guideline Increase sometime in the future.

The 'extensive' work that needed to be done was in two areas: new heating system and new wiring. Because the legal fight was dragging into the fall of 2008, the heating was completed with us in residence.

In the vacant units, the renovations really were extensive -- totally gutting the places exposing groovy brick walls. Old hardwood flooring was torn up and replaced with some petroleum-based shite.

The floorplans were redesigned. Units like mine -- one bedroom -- had the largish living room turned into living-kitchen, kitchen turned into 'den'. All new windows, appliances, and fixtures -- replacing sash windows with mingy modern jobbies, gas stoves with electric, and claw-foot tubs with plastic.

In other words, YUCK!

Throughout our banishment, we kept trying to find out when we could return.

MASSIVE silence.

Then, in September, we got the word. The other two could return on December 1. For me, ringleader and senior shit-disturber, return date was January 1. (That'll show me!)

The smarter of the other two called to tell me that her place had NOT be gutted, NOT been rearranged, and the gas stove and old tub were still there.

'So what's changed?' I asked.

'I've got several more electrical outlets', she said. 'And it's been painted. You'll never guess what colour.'

'Beige.'

'Bingo.'

The fucking landlord had taken eight months to fish new wiring through the walls -- exactly as we had argued was possible with us in residence at the Landlord-Tenant Board hearings -- and paint.

But what of my place?

I found out on January 1. Just like my neighbour's, all the same but for outlets and paint -- but my place (smaller, mind) took an additional month.

So, I'm back. And very happy about it.

I'm looking forward to running into landlord and grinning at him. 'You didn't fuck my place up!'

I was going to host a virtual housewarming party, but then all the excitement over the anti-prorogue demonstrations and all the misery in Haiti scotched that notion.

Maybe later.

(UNPAID ADVERTISEMENT: I used professional movers. They were absolutely fabulous -- reasonably priced and fast. A wine glass was broken and the world's ugliest ashtray got chipped, but that might be down to me and the unprofessional move out of here. The guy actually called me the night before the move to reassure me that all was well. If anybody in Toronto needs a mover, email me and I'll give you his number.)

My Big Misunderstanding

Some readers may remember that I was evicted from my home of 28 years last March.

I intended to return -- as is my right -- but because of the long fight we three tenants put up, the landscum was seriously pissed at us and was screwing around with the renovations and not giving us any information about when we could return.

And some readers may remember that in July this year, I got notice that I was going to be evicted from my temporary digs.

I have updates on both situations.

In late September, we finally heard when we could move back: the two other fighters on December 1; moi, ringleader and chief pain-in-the-ass, to be screwed around for a further month, so January 1. January 1 being both a stat holiday and a Friday, I planned to do the actual move on the Monday the 4th and use professional movers.

July's bad news about having to leave the temporary place fizzled. I heard no more about it. So, while the uncertainty was driving me bats, I kept my fingers crossed and hoped for the best.

On October 2, there was a knock at the door. Landscum's agent telling me the move was on again. I pleaded with him. 'I have a date now. I'm leaving here in early January. Can't I stay for three more months?' Nope. Gotta be out by the end of the month. But not to worry, his guys would move me to a space in sweetie's building (I'm living with sweetie; his landlord owns this place too). I pleaded with him some more, embarrassing description of which I'll spare you.

Gotta move THREE times in nine months.

Agent had said there were several vacant spaces in sweetie's building. I collared one of the maintenance guys and asked him to show them to me. There were three, all huge, one with no windows, but wotthehell, eh?

I called agent and left a message that any of them would do, but that I need a firm date because I've got clients and deadlines. No return call. I called again, left another message, no return call.

I realize that the word insanity should not be misused, but I do believe that I was seriously not myself there for a while. And I think sweetie would confirm that, poor guy.

Finally, I emailed the agent to say that I was trying to be accommodating and would he PLEASE GET THE FUCK IN TOUCH WITH ME??!!?

No response.

In the meantime, I had called the previous tenant here to tell her again that I was being tossed out and perhaps she'd like to come and get the crap of hers (tables, filing cabinet) that I'd been storing for her for free for eight months.

Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, she said again.

So, October draws to a close. No contact from agent and previous tenant does not appear.

Early November, previous tenant calls. She's coming over. And does, two hours after she said she'd be here. But, whatever. . .

She tells me that she has been talking to the agent who told her that I don't have to leave here.

WHAAAAAT?

She elaborates: 'He said it was all a big misunderstanding.'

Gee. My mistake. I heard 'you've got to be out by the end of the month' but he actually knocked on my door to tell me that I could stay until whenever.

(She took a toaster and an electric kettle and said she'd be back for the other crap. Yeah, right.)

I go home to sweetie's and tell him.

Sweetie's got his own problems with the landlord. His lease is up and he has not been given any indication of what the new terms may be. For months, he's been hearing from other tenants that rents are being raised by 20%. People are freaking out and leaving. Hence, vacant spaces for moi.

He's very worried. Finally, he button-holes the agent and gets more assurances that his lease is soon-come and he gets the story behind my 'big misunderstanding'.

According to the agent, the actual landlord-guy asked 'someone' (agent was coy about who the 'someone' was) what I am paying here. Someone said: 'Oh, I don't know, something like $85 a month'. (No. More like four times that. And I'd been told to write the cheques to landlord personally, not the corporation.) Oddly, landlord believes 'someone', goes ballistic and says I gotta get out of here.

Somewhere in there between the agent knocking on my door and the previous tenant telling me I did not have to vacate, sense returned to landlord and his minions.

But they didn't think it necessary to tell ME.

OK, here's the kicker. Two times over my tenancy here, I've noticed on my bank statement that rent cheques hadn't been cashed. Two times I called the office to inform them of the fact. Once I was asked for a replacement cheque, once I guess they found it because I didn't hear anything more.

Again in November, statement revealed that rent cheque had not been cashed. I checked again online and it still hasn't been cashed.

Third time's the charm. I have not called the office.

Oh, and sweetie's rent did not go up by 20%, more like 5%, which he can handle.

Man, will I be glad to get outta this frying pan and back into my old fire.

But I have the feeling that the housing gods are not done with me yet.

I have seriously pissed off the Housing Gods

(Please bear with me. We'll return to our regular programming shortly.)

So, after a two-year battle against aging yuppie landscum, I got evicted from my home of nearly three decades so that 'extensive' renovations could be done. I have the right to return but the landscum has the right to fuck me around for as long as he wants and, given the acrimony, that may run into years.

So, I moved in with sweetie, the man I've loved for longer than I lived in that apartment, but also the man I married so we'd have some legal connection without having to live together. Tried that, didn't work so good.

But I can't work at sweetie's and I needed to store my shit.

Well, happy happy. I found a funky cheapish place for that. Twenty-minute walk from sweetie's. No lease, no crap.

Until Friday. Then I was informed by that landscum's agent that their plans for the place had changed and I have to leave.

Evicted.

Afuckinggain.

I don't know what I did to deserve this, but if I figure it out, I'll let you know.

Because you seriously do not want this to happen to you.