Its Go Time.

Its the forty-five minute car ride home every day that makes my life ok to live. If it wasn't for that seemingly short and expensive block of space that allowed me to sit and listen to some good tunes and just chill the fuck out, I wouldn't be able to do this. I need to come down, y'know what I mean?

I knew that life in a kitchen was going to be crazy, but I didn't account for OCD Anna to have a little bit of a mental breakdown each time an annoying quirk of a co-worker got in the way of doing my job well.
The 12 hour shifts I can handle. The deadlines, I can deal with. The ridiculous nature of existing in a kitchen with 15 other nose-poking females is alright. Realising that I don't have enough ingredients to make the 300 hundred individual desserts for the following day is no big deal.
Its having to depend on other people that's killing me. Having to wait on other people - Watching the lack of care and passion or the blatant disregard for ethics and sanitary codes... Its making my skin crawl.

But I am trying.

Between my graduation speaker and a 32 year-old Graphic Designer/Chef, my passion has been rekindled.
Here are two examples, two different men standing infront of me, telling me what they loved and no matter what was said, negative or positive, I could see the love for it and I in turn, fell in love with it all over again.

But I am tired. There is no time to stop anymore and I'm slowly beginning to realise that I was never meant to stop.