Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Get your caboose in gear cause this train is going all the way to Ch-Change Town (and yes, David Bowie is aboard).

My very wise cubemate, Miss Melissa Presti, once told me there are three life-altering things you should not, not ever, attempt to tackle all at once: your abode, your career, and your love life.

Too bad I just moved into a new apartment, earned myself a promotion, and got a big ole ring on my finger.

OK fine, I keed about that last one. Even though two gay men lived my lovely apartment before me, there is no room for a guy in my living space - or my life, for that matter (at least not at the moment).

I was never a big fan of change. I’m sure I’ve blogged about my melodramatic younger self before - how she wouldn’t shut up when my family moved from Sharon Valley to Sharon Mountain (I left my ‘rents semi-suicidal, super-threatening notes chock full of how-dare-yous and woe-is-me-ness. I did not want to move!)

Change has always been to me what Smokey was to the people on the Island - a monster.

I think - scratch that, I know - that I’m having a hard time coming to terms with growing up. According to my college friend, Meghan, we graduated five years ago this past weekend. She said it seemed like only yesterday. I feel like it was .2 seconds ago.

Not to get all cheesy and Lost-y or anything, but life really does pass by in the blink of an eye. The flash of a light. Poof, game o-v-a. Heaven awaits (or whatever that was.)

So shit yo, you gotta roll with it (how very poignant that Oasis was singing those exact sentiments to me in the background as I typed away...I put on some Bob Dylan next.)

I waited 16 years and 4 months to get my driver’s license - now I live in a city where I don’t even need it. I’ve been a sun-aholic my whole life - now I think it’s safe to say my worshipping days are done.

I’m beginning to see the effects of goddamn gravity on certain body parts kept under wraps. Crows feet are starting to circle my eyes. Hell, even my feet aren’t immune to change: I used to wear a size 9 and now I don a 7.5. WHAT??

The definition of change is to make or become different. I’ve made a lot of changes myself. I’ve tried acupuncture, dabbled into Buddhism, stayed out way past my bedtime on a school night (attempting to be spontaneous), started a blog (!!), decided to interview for my new (now) job, chopped off my hair.

And - gasp - I’ve liked, even enjoyed lots of these things.

Hmm...I love my new apartment...I can’t wait to start my new job...

...have I changed my mind about change itself? Have I been so stuck in my anti-change-ness that I’ve failed to see what is so ridiculously obvious? That I’m embracing change? That I’m liking change?

I talked to my dad the other night and couldn’t help but notice how happy he sounded when telling how he’d won first place in his tractor pull competition on Sunday.

Oh yes. He’s retired, jobless for the first time in over four decades, and I thought I was talking to a teenage boy about his car. (Though instead of a car it was an antique tractor pulling thousand and thousands of pounds - he beat the next best puller by 2 feet!)

I think I like change. Well, let me rephrase: I like change when it’s for the better. Weeeell, that seems a bit unfair. OK I’ll rephrase once more: I am going to be as open as possible when it comes to change.

Yes, as open as possible...even if that means coming to terms with the fact that my father has just hopped the choo-choo (cuckoo) train to Hicksville and I’m leaving my wise, hilarious, sarcastic cubemate for the solitary existence of an office.