How I Ended Up Here: A Kitchen Tragedy

They say the mind works in mysterious ways, and I’m certainly a believer. I started working in corporate kitchens almost twelve years ago. I was surrounded by older men and women who appeared to wake up consistently hating life. I told myself I would never settle. I would never be so content that I would allow myself to be subject to hours and hours of stress everyday, and be alright with it. But here I am, eleven-plus years later, doing the exact same thing, and only getting paid a few dollars more.

I was a good student, I just never learned to study because I never really had to. I stayed on the “honor roll” until my senior year in high school, when I got my first “C.” I graduated with a 75% Bright Futures scholarship, and had no hint of anything remotely near an idea as to what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I enrolled in Santa Fe Community College, which was basically an extension of high school, and found out that studying was something I would actually have to do to be successful.

This was the first time stress had introduced itself into my life as a permanent fixture. I was working at a deli thirty hours a week, and trying to be a full time student. I felt as if I was incapable of studying, in part because of two unruly roommates, who also happened to be two of my best friends, and the fact that I had just taken my first drink of any type of alcohol a few months earlier and was completely enthralled with the euphoric episodes I’d have while drunk. Needless to say, my mental focus shifted from studying to drinking, and from making it to class to sleeping enough before I had to work. My grades took a hit, and after my second semester I was on academic probation, which would be the first, and least serious, of any probations to come.

Two semesters in, and I was still without a cause. I took a semester off to gather my thoughts (drink), and find out if I could come up with anything that sounded interesting and slightly fulfilling to spend the next fifty years doing. I spent my entire time in high school writing in journals, and my thoughts would always run wild when I’d pick up a pen, but for some reason I never managed to put two and two together. I wanted to be a writer, but didn’t realize it until I had already lost my scholarship, dropped out of college, and began developing a serious alcohol problem.

I was already excelling in the cooking industry, being that I have half a brain, and am a hard worker, but I was still telling myself not to be content. Don’t settle, don’t settle, don’t settle. But with every year passed, and every drink downed, I was becoming more and more content, and like wet concrete in the sun, I was settling.

No matter how settled I get, concrete can still be broken apart, mixed together again, and laid down to set somewhere completely different. I intend to write my way out of the kitchen.

NOTE: This blog will take you through various experiences of my life, hard times, good times, horrible times, incarcerated times, near death experiences, and current rage if it just so types itself out.

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