I check in again with Al Kemp, a family man who lost his job during this harsh recession and is struggling to find his way.

Here’s a link to his previous post right after he was laid off and the challenge of explaining that to his daughter; and here’s his post about the job-seeking struggle.

He’s found work but it’s not what he expected, and alas, not quite what he wants.

He calls this installment “Gimme Shelter”:

By Al Kemp

I used to think of this phase of my career as “taking shelter.”

What else do you call it when a corporate downsizing eliminates your writing job at the state’s largest daily newspaper (after 23 years of service and superior performance evaluations), and the best you can do is resurface at a much smaller daily newspaper, for about half your previous salary?

I had already spent six months selling freelance articles, training as a Census worker, substitute-teaching and loading UPS trucks when the reporting job materialized like a mirage on the African plains.

As the months went past, I watched the final season of “The Wire,” which looked at a crumbling Baltimore from the perspective of a fictionalized and also-crumbling Baltimore Sun. Week after week viewers saw the newspaper industry fade into memory as buyouts and layoffs left the few surviving practitioners limping toward obsolescence.

That final season hit home in a huge way, but I did not heed its message. When the reporting job at the small paper appeared, I pounced on it like a starving lion on a baby antelope.

Why? Because I needed the shelter.

But that was more than a year ago.

I never intended my shelter to be a long-term residence, or even a rented apartment. In my mind a shelter was more of a lean-to, or something fashioned out of four sticks and a tarp.

Last night I dreamed that everything and everyone I cared about was on an airplane that was about to leave the gate. I was on crutches, hurrying through the airport terminal with my carry-on bag coming unpacked as I hobbled towards the gate – too little, too late.

Which is exactly how I feel when I’m awake.

I feel like a library book that’s way past due. I feel like some guy still sitting in the fire hall long after the hurricane blew through.

Today I don’t feel like I’m taking shelter so much as taking on water – like a ship does before it sinks.

Our tax bill last year was more than $40,000. One reason was that I took a pension distribution without knowing I would be penalized. Another reason: Hardly any mortgage interest to deduct from the taxable income, because hardly any mortgage payments got made.

Right now our lender is supposedly restructuring our loan, and the only way to pay the IRS was to make another huge withdrawal from my 401(k), which is nearly decimated.

If I had known this would happen I would never have returned to print journalism, the only job I ever loved.

I work about 60 hours a week. I could probably earn more as an assistant manager at Radio Shack. I spend about 20 hours a week commuting.

Job search? Um, I’ll put it on the list.