I wrote this Tuesday, June 23, around 3pm.
I've been talking about going back to school for 6 years now, and the time has finally come. In the meantime, I feel as though I've been quarantined to some culinary exile or some such; as if this is my hell for not taking it seriously when I had it. I love the times I had, but I can't go back. It goes against my theory of nostalgic time travel.
These are the fears and mindsets that try to scare me from going to school. They haunt me. I know better: ignore them, continue, persevere, fight.
No matter how many times I've changed something in my life, it still scares the shit out of me.
I was laid off by 7pm. It was the push I needed to go and find something better, and more fulfilling; something more rewarding, with more integrity; something that would allow me to sleep at night.
It's strange: I'm unemployed and I feel so much better about myself now. I'm on my way back to the big leagues. I'm very excited.
Culinary exile indeed. It's as if all I had to do was admit it to myself and the universe in writing... Wicked response time.
England Prevails.
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