Morning shakedown.

It is the morning. I'm well rested and getting ready to head to work. Also, I hate work.

I'm a cook, an overworked cooked. The people I work for say that I do good work and they enjoy what I make. But that praise isn't enough for me to be satisfied with the daily twelve to thirteen hour lock-down they subject me to at the measly rate of nine bucks an hour. I want to leave this place, I really do. If it isn't because of the crazy, relationship shattering hours, it's for the atmosphere. Now don't get me wrong, the people there are some of the most fun-loving, charming people you could ever meet – but the skill of the servers and the other cooks...Well, it's nothing to write home about.

At the moment, I've the best cook in that kitchen, which – in my opinion – isn't saying much. I'm a newbie, thirsty for knowledge. I originally thought this place was going to be a well of Italian cooking knowledge, but with no head chef and a kitchen manager that was so unfit for his job that he got demoted (which was really nice of the GM, I would have fired him), the only one that knows what they're doing is me. Not good. Since I know what I am doing, they want me to do everything. Everything. Having the responsibility isn't an issue, I don't mind it. But I can't stand not having a life because of it.

The pain of 'eat-sleep-work' is driving me wild and the lack of balance in my life is making me rather resentful towards this establishment. Especially since I've talked to the GM on multiple occasions about the frustrating degree of my endurance-based shifts. “Bear with me,” She said, smoking a cigarette behind the bar counter. “Don't let this challenge beat you.” It appealed to my pride; not losing to something. But this doesn't bode well for my sanity. I'm deteriorating and I know it. Eventually, I'll stop caring and the quality of what I do will fall so sharply that even I will be surprised.

Just like the drifting break-up with my girl was easy to foresee and unavoidable, so is my eventual corruption at the hands of this job. I think 'jaded' might be the word for it. But no big deal, shit happens right? All I know is that cooking, which I liked before, didn't like, and now kind of like again, might not be the thing I want to do for the rest of my life. Biggest problem is, with that said, I actually don't know what it is that I am willing to do for the rest of my life. I can say one thing though, writing has always been a little past time of mine – I wonder if I can do that for a living and make some serious scratch. Hrrmmm.

My grandmother is in the hospital. Breast cancer. She just got her breast removed yesterday – I'm confident that she's doing on. That woman is strong. The girl that I recently broke up with, she called. Her great aunt at some work done at the hospital as well. Apparently, her great aunt's heart was arrhythmic, because some valves weren't pumping blood. Well, they got her fixed up, and informed her that she would have to take this medication for the rest of her life. But...the great aunt HATES taking pills. Why? Because of T.V. Doctors. The girl told me about how her great aunt listens to these folks like it's a religion and will shape her life based on her advice.

Once she heard, from the T.V., that bread will give you cancer, so what did she do? She stopped eatting bread. Crazy.

Anyway, I have to get some breakfast and shower. Thank you for reading – click follow, get updated. Also, I now have twitter. Follow me there, @Ascydd. Then you can see how mundane and hopeless things are on a minute to minute basis. Awesome!