Mourning period=one week

Anyone who has spent 2.5 minutes talking to me or 2.5 hours reading this blog knows that I get excited. Often, and vigorously. Sadly, a lot of the ruffled feathers is of the freaking-out-for-no-cause variety, which is a lot less interesting than the dirty kind that I'm sure a few of you immediately thought of after that second sentence. Sorry to disappoint.

So of course those who know me are expecting that I'd totally lose it over having to job hunt again only two months after I hung up that particular rifle and furry-earflapped plaid hat. Especially when I heard that H was also "restructured" out of his job. (Oh, I didn't tell you? Add one more member to the Laid-Off Club roster, Jon. Let's get T-shirts!). In all fairness, I did sort of royally flip out when I heard H's news. Wouldn't you? I mean, no one would bet on the chances that both of us would be laid off from our respective jobs in different fields within the same month, let alone any closer than that. Normally, this is when I would rant and rave about how terrible a situation I'm in and how everything in the world sort of sucks (which I still think), but for some reason, I have a sense of calm. Because H getting laid off right after I was is the single best thing that could have happened to me.

Stay with me now; I don't think that H losing his job is good. He doesn't even get to stay and finish stuff up for awhile like I do. And that puts a damper on the plan to save money and get ourselves into the same zip code. However, it also puts a damper on all the whining he'd have to hear from me about how much job hunting sucks and how there's nothing out there and how I'm going to have to move to Biloxi and join the circus so why am I wasting time on resumes and not focusing on regaining my flexibility? What face do I have to bitch about all that to someone who's going through the same thing?

But beyond all that, I really don't have that weighty sense of impending doom that I had at the beginning of this year when the dungeon began to run dry. The kind that made me not want to go out or even talk on the phone with my friends because that would take away precious time from my panicking about my impending doom while pretending to find something to stop it. Perhaps it's different because of the small cushion I have until the checks stop coming. Maybe it's because all my coworkers can commisserate and share contacts. I don't know. But I've got this deadly sense of calm and assurance that things will be okay because I gd said it's going to be, dammit. And I'm going to get that out in writing before the doubt creeps in and asphyxiates it like a poisonous gas.