It's one of those days.
I have a migraine that keeps coming back, and a crying baby that I can't seem to soothe. They finally fell asleep after much coaxing. Fighting sleep. If it were an olympic sport, I'd have a gold medalist on my hands.
The weather is wet and miserable. I feel miserable. I feel like crap.
I just want to be back, surrounded by stainless steel, soaked in sweat, running faster than I can catch my breath and with my knife back in hand. With every day that passes it seems less and less likely. Taking a year off is just too much. I am not the domesticated, house-wifey type. You can only clean your house so many times before somebody walks in and asks if somebody actually lives there.
Frustrated. Good god.
If you asked me a year ago where I would be in life, this would not be it. I'd have been off cooking in some foreign kitchen, not stuck at home rotting away. Not begging for a job thanks to crappy availability.
My job was my life. My co-workers were family. This feels like some shitty divorce.
So much for building myself.
Ciao
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