goodnight sweet sentra

Oh little me. I must admit that I have always struggled a bit with change. Sometimes, regardless of how exciting or right the change is, I find myself with boxing gloves, shouting "hell no, I won't go." Perhaps it's the romantic in me that clings to what I hold dear, regardless of how bad it may be for me. Case in point--I cried when I said goodbye to my car on Saturday. I literally had tears in my eyes over a piece of metal that I had to have towed into the car dealership. Most people would be like, "thank god this piece of crap is gone--give me something new!" Me? Not so much. I had to go through a ritual of closure with my car. I took pictures of her-she looked so vulnerable and miserable beside the shiny, new vehicles. I took time (a good ten minutes) staring at her and remembering the places she carried me to, the amazing whoopie I had in her, the moments in her when my heart was broken, and the moments I sang at the top of my lungs on our tour through Ohio. She got me home safely, every time....even the times I pulled in praying she would make it up the driveway. I imagined what she would say to me if she could actually speak. I think it would go something like this:

"I love you. I loved you the moment you picked me out from the rest and called me your "pussy inferno." I loved that the day after you got me, I carried you all the way to Michigan, for your first Michfest, and I eased your anxiety about traveling by yourself because I was the safest, most secure piece of metal you ever owned. I loved that I was there when you had your heart broken by your first true love, how she left me and you in tears. I loved that I saw you grow beyond that moment. And I love that I have seen you grow again and again through challenges, be it a broken heart, a broken kidney, a broken ego. I love that you risked having sex in me, but should tell you that people did notice when I rocked back and forth. I love that you are about to embark on a new journey. I love who you are and I know I will no longer be the one to carry you, but I see who's come to fill my tires and I trust in my engine that she is the best thing for you. So let me go to the junk yard knowing that nothing will ever replace the 8 years we had together. Remember me and put down the boxing gloves--embrace the changes that lie ahead of you."

So with a new car, a new home around the corner, a new job on the horizon, and a new attitude, I am embracing change and allowing myself closure. I'm saying goodnight, loving the sunset and moon that close the day, and falling asleep with hope. The boxing gloves are in a box, in the closet.