Felix has let himself go

This morning I received a flurry of texts from Michael saying that his company was letting people go.  And was I going ahead with that one year leave of absence?
I texted him to please call me if he had a chance and he did, from the bathroom (the first of two such calls that day).  We joked (but not entirely) that possibly they were looking to let him go as well, but didn't know where he had gotten to.
Long story short?  Happy New Year and happy Monday, right?  Unfortunately I know what it's like to be let go and so I know all the things that I said to Michael tonight (I'm Felix-sitting in Vancouver) have been taken with a grain of salt.
It's weird timing, though.  I mean, I have this LOA thing in the works and Michael and I always joke about what different people we are when we're not working.  What would it be like if we had a six month overlap when we both weren't employed?  It could be amazing.  We could fall into something way better than what we had before.  We could decide that we just didn't give a shit about the workaday world and fuck off to Bali.  I don't know.
Unknown unknowns.
It's weird too, since I just started another Somerset Maugham book that R gave me for my birthday - The Moon and Sixpence - and damn if there isn't just another "do what you love" and "follow your passion" vibe to it, just like my favourite book in the world: The Razor's Edge.
I guess fundamentally what I am saying is that Michael and I likely won't attempt any major change in our careers unless our hand is forced.  I'm not sure whether this is prudent, cautious, or uptight.  Hell, I won't know whether this is prudent, cautious or uptight until I'm 65 and half of my face is paralyzed and I'm living in a trailer park in the Sunshine Valley thinking "What if..."
Anyways.  On the upside of things, I met C at the Cactus Club tonight and they had an item on their menu that said "Fraser Valley chicken" and so I became "one of those people" (because I know both Bradner and Heritage Farms are local and humane) and asked if their chicken was free range.  The super hot waitress (who was sure I was hitting on her because of my short hair, black rimmed glasses, plaid shirt, jeans, dikey shoes and nose piercing) said she didn't think so, but she would check.
She came back and - bang, zoom! - it was free range!  Duder eats chicken in a restaurant like what normal people do.  Even C had the chicken because he feels bad that I will never find a woman that will want to settle down with me.
To sum up: Felix is fat; maybe I made a mistake with the haircut; and possibly Michael and I will be knocking on your door for handouts in the next few months.  But only if they're free range and Oceanwise, natch.