Ch-ch-ch-change...

For Christmas, Q got this piggy bank that counts all his change.  It's one of his most favourite presents.  He's already stolen saved over $100.00.  On a completely different note, my change keeps disappearing...seriously, we had to make a rule that he doesn't get to *save* any of mommy's money over a quarter. 

I wish I got a piggy bank. 

Well, something I can keep all my change in and then hide away.  But by 'change' I don't mean money...I mean change...actual physical changes in my life.

Take, for instance, my transfer. 

Last week, I woke up every single day of the week with a panic attack that lasted for half an hour.  That's a long way to spend half an hour, for the record.  The second day of the work week, I left the house in tears.  It's ridiculous, I know.  I mean, I'm a fricken adult.  Adults don't cry in the morning on their way to work.  They don't have panic attacks. 

They suck it up.  They deal.  They remember that they're super fortunate to have a job that affords them the opportunity to support their child, save for their retirement through a pension, and pay for the health and dental.  They remember it could always be worse.  They remember their little man who is at home waiting to see them. 

But every day was so different and so unsettling.  No face was familiar.  The toilet didn't even flush itself.  Do you know how horrifying it is to have partially left the stall when you realize you haven't flushed the toilet because you're so used to it flushing itself?  Modern technology has made even the most simplistic events an embarrassing production.

For the most part, everyone has been really very welcoming.  There's always an exception, and mine is a fellow supervisor who I can't seem to figure out.  At first I thought it was just me, but I've noticed he doesn't treat anyone with any amount of respect.  He seems to feel really good about himself when he makes others look like idiots.  Fortunately, he's not very good at it - making others look like idiots, that is.  He sure tries.  I've followed my "three strikes" rule....and he's all out of strikes, so next time he gets in my face, I'm just going to have to tell him that "this" isn't working for me and if he yells at me one more time I'm going to stuff his big toes up his nostrils.  Of course, I wouldn't really.  It's just a good visual for him.  I noticed that he had clear nail polish on his nails yesterday, so he goes for manicures.  He's a metro-sexual, among other things.

After a week, things are looking a little more familiar.  I've almost memorized the eight (!) separate steps to resetting the conveyor belt that our parcels go on, and I cannot wait until I recognize the fact that the belt needs to be reset.  I've flushed the toilet every single day this week. 

Change is so difficult for me.  I miss my employees from my old job.  I think of them often and wish they knew how much they've become apart of my life and thoughts.  If I changed a part of their lives, they certainly changed mine.  I miss one in particular who taught me so much about myself and what I am looking for in a partner.  He showed me that there are men out there that still love their women, still hold the door open for ladies, and know how to take care of their gals.  He's a good man, a misunderstood man, and a fabulous worker.  I miss the one who gave me the Guatemalan worry dolls.  I miss them all. 

Yes, instead of dealing with change, I'd like to put it all away and save it for another day.