See, I hate change. The life-twisting kind of change, not the pocket kind of change, though I hate pocket change too.
It's late; bear with me.
I have a new job, one that's utterly different from anything I've ever done. It's different, partially because it pays more decently than anything I've been paid in years and partially because I'm not being paid to walk around in circles and look busy, but mostly because it's actually based on a tangible, quantifiable skill.
Still. It's different, and that's unnerving as hell - more than the change (or maybe because of the hatred of change) is the fact that I don't like not being good at things in public. I learn in private (or at least quietly through absorption) and I keep it close. I don't mind losing, but failing is very different. I do it as much as anybody, but I tend not to talk about it - my anxiety suppression system would rival mother's latest little helper if you could squeeze it into pill form.
Until it loses containment, anyway, but that's not the point.
On top of this new job, I'm faced with the unenviable position of having to move at the same time - my building got sold and my rent's going up by a third on April First, so that's that. I like this place, but I never really could afford it; it's just as well, but that's a helluva lot of organization that I don't know if I'm capable of right now.
I am sedentary. I am comfortable. I live (here's irony for you) three blocks away from my new office. It's less than a cigarette away; that's ridiculously close, even by New York City standards. The possibility of a better, cheaper place with a fire escape and butt can of my very own is thrilling, but. Change. Packing. Boxes. Kitty carriers. It's dangerous.
The moving problem is really the same as the working problem - I don't want to have to ask where the deli with the leanest pastrami is, or how to get to the subway, or where the nearest park is that I can catch some sun of a summer sunday. I'm used to knowing these things because I've lived here for three years and, right now, this is as much of a home to me as I've ever had (with the exception of one particular piece of scenery.)
It's funny, in a way. What way, exactly, I'm not so sure.