Lately, I have been thinking that I need a change.
However, the word “change” causes me to break out in hives
and I find myself breathing into a brown paper bag. It’s as if I suddenly
experience a visceral reaction to an idea. As if just thinking about it will
tilt the earth from its current axis and cause devastation and extinction of
the human race. How can a teeny tiny idea cause such distress?
Regardless how much this “idea” causes my pubescent acne to
rear its ugly head, I’m still thinking it – I need a change. My mind just will
not turn off, no matter how I try to divert its attention. Did you know that
chocolate – while smooth pieces of heaven – is not really a distraction to the
worms that nestle into your brain and set up shop? The mere idea of change
becomes that nearly translucent shard of glass wedged into your skin that
leaves even your physician whispering hypochondria to your husband.
The first definition on Merriam-Webster online defines
change as a verb meaning to become different. B.E.C.O.M.E. different. This
seems too permanent, too final, and too definite. Like the caterpillar that
spins its silky chrysalis only to emerge a completely different insect. The
caterpillar cannot take it back. Oops! I’m sorry, I changed my mind. I’m actually
too afraid of heights to have wings. I want all of my legs back. There simply
is no customer service anywhere that can make that happen. To change is a
complete transformation that is forever etched into time. Once
the “change” is made, you are completely, utterly, no-holds-barred stuck with
it.
Once you become comfortable with the idea – the
mere idea of change – you begin to become different. So where did this idea come from? If I cannot get rid of the
implanted worm, than perhaps I can find its origin and destroy it or at the
very least analyze it to death.
