Among the leaves

Still operating with the assumption that at the end of my half-time April, I'll be full-time unemployed, today was not a great day. In the second week of being off work, I filed for unemployment, a surprisingly smooth and easy task to accomplish. Then I spent half the day trying to correct a small mistake, not so smooth and easy a task to accomplish.

The lack of routine was welcome the first week. Now I know how deeply I'm caught up in identifying with my job. Without it, I'm a little sad this second week, at sea.

Or fallen. Pema Chodron says "To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest,” not exactly my favorite way to wake up.

Stopping in the office, I find a letter offering me my position at half time. A bit of delayed mail, it feels like a crummy joke. The one that followed saying "oops: they didn't really approve that" is even more delayed. It hasn't come yet.

I print jobs that will be posted soon at the state site. As a "terminal" employee, I'm not entitled to the forewarning, but a kind colleague passes his earlier notices along, alerting me. There are a few to apply for. Good.

But the sadness won't dislodge.

I take Idgie to the dog park.

The March wind is blowing hard. A big box elder branch cracks, breaks, falls to the ground. At the edge of the rutted road an Asian couple gleans in the brush that's been bulldozed there, stripping free supporting stalks to hold their beans and culling bigger wood for fire.

We head into the woods, Idgie on the heels of a squirrel. I lie down in the dry oak leaves. My hair must be lost in them, so close are the colors. New adder's tongue thrusts through the dead leaves nearby, sharp, green and gray and speckled. I cross my hands on my chest: the princess pose my sister called it, the one we'd take at night awaiting princes. Then I put them at my side, the corpse pose, the next one to take.

But not for awhile.

Idgie returns and kisses me. This is unusual. She's not an affectionate dog. But then, she's not used to me lying in the leaves, watching the branches wave above, wondering whether I'm closer to a princess or a corpse.

I decide it's a stupid question and brush off the leaves clinging to my sweater.

We spend two hours there. The dogs are mad with spring delight, humping each other and peeing on anyone foolish enough to sit in a chair in the place where people gather there. Idgie has perfected the leg-lift style of micturation and follows suit, proud of herself.

We head home for dinner. Then she naps and I steel myself to work, editing papers or applying for jobs.

Maybe. This fully awake business needs recuperative naps now and then. And when you wake, chances are the moon and stars will call you.