I used to be a slob. If I didn't see it, I didn't have to clean it. Out of sight, out of mind. 'I need to eat? I'll wash a pot and a plate... or maybe I'll just eat out of the pot. Yeah, that's easier.'
I used to be professionally unemployed. 'Too much stress. I don't fit in the world. I'm too depressed. I don't function the same way as others."
I used to cook as little as possible. Everything I made tasted exactly the same as the only seasonings I'd use were garlic powder, onion powder, soy sauce and, maybe, salt. I had no love for food. As long as it was edible, it was fine. It would keep me from starving. I mean, is that not the purpose of food, really?
I have a new-found love for clean, clutter free spaces. Working in somewhat cramped quarters with up to two other people in the same tiny area has shown me, first hand, how important it is to put everything in its place.
Speaking of work, I am and have been for almost five months. I've only held two jobs for longer than this one. One was with a family member and the other will not be spoken of, here. Five days a week I wake up and get ready. Five days a week I go in to the store where I bide my time until the end of my shift. I arrive on time, to a place that goes against many of my ideals, and spend eight hours with some of the funniest people I have ever met in a place where I almost fit. Often I have to battle my way through the days. I battle tears and despair -- this is not the life I wanted. Sometimes, though, I look forward to my day and it flies by.
I still have no love of food. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate a tasty meal and I finally know a little something about what that means. Wolf is a genius in the kitchen. I have learned, over the past almost seven years what good food tastes like and I would love, on one hand, to be able to produce such meals. I just tend to get a little stressed and flustered. Then, the F*ck-Up rears her ugly head and it's all a wash. The F*ck-Up, for the record, is my sixteen year old self who is a complete basket case who "can't do anything!!"
So, make me clean and I'll take a toothbrush to corners and a razor blade to crusted on grossness. I'll scrub toilets and bathtubs and make everything shiny and spotless. Sent me out to work and I'll bring in a much needed and appreciated paycheque. I'll go against my nature and do my best to work through my shit. I'll go above and beyond anything I have accomplished so far in my life, but please, please don't make me cook!!!
I used to be professionally unemployed. 'Too much stress. I don't fit in the world. I'm too depressed. I don't function the same way as others."
I used to cook as little as possible. Everything I made tasted exactly the same as the only seasonings I'd use were garlic powder, onion powder, soy sauce and, maybe, salt. I had no love for food. As long as it was edible, it was fine. It would keep me from starving. I mean, is that not the purpose of food, really?
I have a new-found love for clean, clutter free spaces. Working in somewhat cramped quarters with up to two other people in the same tiny area has shown me, first hand, how important it is to put everything in its place.
Speaking of work, I am and have been for almost five months. I've only held two jobs for longer than this one. One was with a family member and the other will not be spoken of, here. Five days a week I wake up and get ready. Five days a week I go in to the store where I bide my time until the end of my shift. I arrive on time, to a place that goes against many of my ideals, and spend eight hours with some of the funniest people I have ever met in a place where I almost fit. Often I have to battle my way through the days. I battle tears and despair -- this is not the life I wanted. Sometimes, though, I look forward to my day and it flies by.
I still have no love of food. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate a tasty meal and I finally know a little something about what that means. Wolf is a genius in the kitchen. I have learned, over the past almost seven years what good food tastes like and I would love, on one hand, to be able to produce such meals. I just tend to get a little stressed and flustered. Then, the F*ck-Up rears her ugly head and it's all a wash. The F*ck-Up, for the record, is my sixteen year old self who is a complete basket case who "can't do anything!!"
So, make me clean and I'll take a toothbrush to corners and a razor blade to crusted on grossness. I'll scrub toilets and bathtubs and make everything shiny and spotless. Sent me out to work and I'll bring in a much needed and appreciated paycheque. I'll go against my nature and do my best to work through my shit. I'll go above and beyond anything I have accomplished so far in my life, but please, please don't make me cook!!!
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