chapter 9:
the horror and the wild
go home

affirmations for line cooks

there's always noise

I live on the second floor of a house. The first floor is a different unit (and address); it's separate from mine. I have never met the people there. I have read the names on the mailbox; someone's last name is Chinese. I have seen a vaguely Asian-looking man enter the front door.

My room seems to be directly above one room he uses; my kitchen seems to be above another room he uses. If there is noise I can hear in my room, there is not noise I can hear in the kitchen (and vice versa).

When there's noise I can hear in the kitchen, it's hard-bass music. The sound booms through the floor, so loud that earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones are necessary to cover it up. I've begun to learn to like it. (Only took five months!) I'll never enjoy the vibrations, though.

When there's noise I can hear in my room, it's the constant sound of chatter. Is it a radio? Is he playing a podcast, or the news? This is not in English, so every word I hear is irrelevent. The volume changes from time to time. There's the distinct "ba-dum-boop" of a speaker turning on. I put on my headphones; if the noise I play is loud enough, I don't hear him. Sometimes I use the fan as a white noise machine. Sometimes I listen to brown noise. Sometimes I listen to music; I put one song on repeat until I've tuned it out.

There is another man who lives in my unit; his bedroom is next to mine. When he's home, I can hear the sounds of swords clashing, and voices that sound like an English dub of an anime. Occasionally, the distinct sound of Sal Khan's voice booms from his room. Sometimes he plays music. I once woke up to him blasting a song at 8am; he was loud enough I had to wear ear plugs and noise cancelling headphones. I was not in a good mood. When he's in the kitchen, he's watching something else on his phone. I know he's home because of the amount of noise coming out of his room. I know he's home because I have to keep my headphones up and tune up the volume a bit too much just to preserve my sanity.

There are people across the street who throw parties. When they do, I put in my ear plugs, put on my headphones, play white noise, keep the fan at it's highest speed, and then drug myself to sleep. This is the only way to cover up the sheer amount of noise booming from their house. I've considered calling the police on them, but I don't know if I'm overreacting. They'll keep at it from about 7pm-2am.

Wearing ear plugs with noise-cancelling headphones, and playing noise/music, keeps my ears in pain. I am sitting in a coffee shop and am accompanied by the gentle hum of music and chit-chat. This is peaceful noise. My ears still hurt. I worry I'll damage them.

I prefer silence. I like it when the house is quiet. Sure, the peace will be disturbed by people blasting music from the speakers of their car, or from the occasional walker-by, or from the church bells, or the sounds of the dogs barking, or the people who are yelling at each other, or the cars who are honking at each other. I want to exist in the noise and not tune it out.

The noises these people play grab attention; they aren't background, they're something to listen to. How do they live with this constant stream of chatter? Are they tuning out their lives? Or is that the equivalent of the background noise of a coffee shop; have they learned to live with it? Maybe it keeps them company. Maybe it's a substitute for real people. Maybe they need it to keep their mind off of things. Maybe they can't stand their thoughts; maybe they're ignoring everything. Maybe they're just tuning out the other sounds of existence.

Or they just wake up, or come home, and dull their minds in front of the TV.

the difficulty of treating oneself

I live ~1-1.5mi from downtown. Going anywhere is a 20-30min walk (traffic lights! can't always be an asshole pedestrian). I have short legs, which doesn't help the walk time. Going out to grab coffee is an hour-long affair; get there, wait, leave.

I like getting out of the house. I like getting to try new things, and I like getting to go different places. I enjoy a coffee shop where I can people watch and listen to others conversations. I enjoy getting a glimpse at how other people live their lives. I like dreaming up stories and thinking about who these people might be, what their conversations might be about. Maybe the guy in the chair is writing creative nonfiction; maybe he spends his days as a construction worker, and this is where he comes to work on the book that'll be his big break. The two teenaged kids in the corner ran away from home and are plotting what to do next. The girl at the table near me comes here every work to work on lab reports. The guys behind me are old friends who only have the chance to see each other once a month. These stories aren't true, unless they are, they're just passing thoughts.

I work full-time. In a few days, I'll be going to school full-time (18 credits!!!). I won't have time to spend an hour on coffee. I won't have time to go out for dinner. I won't have time to spend a day cooking.

Going out is tiring. There's no way to avoid the time commitment. If I go out before or after work, I'm on my feet for 9-10hr. My feet are always sore; my back hurts; my hips hurt; my legs cramp; my neck pains me. Is going out a good choice? I start to doubt myself. I leave the house and come back feeling refreshed. I leave the house and come back feeling exhausted. I regret leaving; I regret coming home. Was the money worth it, I start to wonder, is the pain worth it?

I worry I'm wearing my body out. The pain is different from what it used to be---is this the chronic pain becoming worse? I hoped those pains were gone. I don't know why I thought they could be. I'm trying to find the time to do yoga. Stretching helps for a moment. Do I need to do more yoga? What do I need to do to cope with the pain? I presume the work I do is what makes everything worse---I'm on my feet 40hr a week for work, and wouldn't be surprised if I spent another 7-10hr a week on walking. I'm walking with a bag that weighs me down; I'm carrying ?lbs up and down stairs.

What to do, what to do.

This. week. I will stretch after work every day. Start with five minutes. Keep my back in decent shape. Isometric exercises with holding weights; my elbows are acting up again, and with the amount of time I spend holding a knife, I really can't afford this.

So it goes.

days go by

I think about how — is the butt of many jokes; how — reduces him to "the —-ian." There's something sick about that. Getting to laugh about him feels good. I can't forget, but I can turn him into some distant aspect of my past; someone who meant (not means) something to me; something I've moved on from. Except I almost wrote to him. I started drafting the email. I deleted it. Why waste more time on someone who can't appreciate anything I can offer?

Loneliness stabs me. I come to the same conclusions: I feel lonely because I am not satisfied with my own company. I am dissatisfied with myself because I hate myself. I avoid myself? I'm reaching for a problem I don't know how to fix.

So much of my meal prep was crap. To remedy this, I try to eat, try to fix the flavor, and then use popcorn to fill my stomach. I am wasting so much food. I'll only do a week and a half next time; two weeks of curries was too much for me. Maybe I'll make a pizza. I just need something fun.

I'm in college to appease my parents. I can't talk to my parents about wanting to drop out. They'll guilt trip me. They hear I'm graduating in spring and talk about grad school and about me being a professor. They think about how my lease is up in December; I could move back to their place and commute for my last semester. I could quit my (silly little) job. They picture this 'perfect' future. I don't see myself in it. I see the misery of being confined to a desk in a career I don't want. It is security, sure, though.

Unfortunately, moving out helped me realize you don't need much money to live. Rent is cheap (housemates & unsafe area). Food is costly, but you can get by on $30-$50 a week (it all depends on what you're cooking). I will never have children; I doubt I'll ever be in a (long-term) relationship. I have a decent emergency fund, so most of what's leftover goes to college debt. I can pay off the students loans under my name within the next year. The loans under my parents names are a different matter.

All of my decisions are rash.

What am I doing?

///

"You come to me when you're feeling confused and want guidance," she says. "Have I ever helped you?"

"You comfort me," you reply. "Answering your questions makes me feel like I understand myself. For a moment."

"But do I help you?"

"...no."

"Then stop."

///

I didn't go to class last night. I started filling out the college withdrawal form. I'd like to talk to someone about this. — offered, but he doesn't have the time. My mom would just cry and guilt-trip me. I want to bring it up with — and maybe I'll have a chance to today. I wasn't able to yesterday. Did — think to say something to him? — (the third person in this paragraph) asked why I was in college, and told me about how he left after one semester. My other coworkers don't know how to react to my comments. They employ the sunk cost fallacy; "you've come so far." "What'll you do instead?" except there is no instead, there was no plan in the first place, I'm only appeasing my parents.

I wish I had more perspective on the choice I'm making.

I've cut my hair three times in the past two weeks. My hair was just past my shoulder blades. Then it was just past my shoulders. Then it was shoulder length. Then it was chin length. I keep waiting to regret it; to look at the mirror, cry, and schedule an appointment with a hair stylist. The ends are a bit uneven. One could say there's accidental layering. It doesn't look bad to me—I like the slight unevenness. It's imperfect. For something I did with a pocket knife, I'd say it's pretty good.

If my mom sees this, she'll be upset. I'll hear about how she's failed as a parent. I'll feel hurt. I wonder how much she dwells in her perceived failure. Does she wonder if her standards are wrong?

///

Last night, I skimmed my old journal entries. I am not fundamentally unlikable; I had never been around people who liked me for me. I do not need to watch movies to gain a cultural context that's necessary for interacting with others. The cultural context isn't necessary—my coworkers and I don't communicate in series of old movie references, we just talk about our selves, lives, and interests. I can spend most of my day around the same people and still have things to say. Maybe it's because they're nice; I don't hear them calling me names or saying I'm an inhumane creature. We just exist.

///

She's always been so focused on making me better that I don't think she ever properly learned who I am
Resolved

///

I'd say I still lack confidence, but that's a lie. I have little confidence, and I'm on edge. I've gotten experience; my uncertainty doesn't show. I wouldn't say I've changed. I would say I've improved.

///

I don't understand why you were so fixated on getting me to articulate my reading habits in precise terms. Nor why you were bothered when I tried and changed my mind. I dunno, hon, sometimes I'm in the mood for scifi. Sometimes I want a cozy fantasy novel. Sometimes I want a thriller. Sometimes I have phases where I keep reading the same genre. None of these define me. At the end of the day, I'm someone who likes people and stories. There are themes I tend to like, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying books that don't contain those themes. And I can have a good time reading an easy thriller, then jump into some dense work of prestigious fiction. It ain't all or nothing. Why do I like the books I like—articulate on a case by case basis. Yeah, sometimes I liked something because I was in the mood for that kind of novel. I don't think this is abnormal; it's natural.

You were annoyed when my actions were a result of my mood (because it made me inconsistent), yet you kept lashing out according to your mood. How you treated me depended on your mood. I never knew what terms we were on. Every time my phone buzzed to alert me of an email, I was filled with anxiety. One minute we'd be having a good conversation, and then we'd be breaking up. One moment you're angry, then you change your mind. One moment you'd say something that left me thinking you cared, and then you'd shit on everything I cared about (while shitting on me for caring in the first place, then shitting on me for avoiding giving you reasons to shit on me, then...). If I tried to break things off, you'd tell me that we're lonely people who don't have other options; if you break things off, it's because being alone is better than being around me. You expected me to tolerate your every change in mood—and you oscillated within minutes—and expected me to be some unchanging rock. How much of a hypocrite can you be?

I keep wondering if you're dead.

I can't keep thinking about you. You hurt me and left me thinking this was my fault. What is your problem? It's as if you hide behind depression and refuse to take responsibility for your life.

It's too early in the morning for this.

week in review: 20240902

Give it time, love, I know you're wanting more
But you'll find that hope goes away if it's ignored
I Design Disasters

Listening: it's been a good week for lyrics that tell a story. Sound-wise, I've switched things up---these are mostly alternative and acoustic bands.

Hobbies. Found some time to read. Visited the library---I think I have an easier time reading physical books than digital books. I've also found time for tarot! A few weeks ago, I bought the Light Visions tarot deck. It's beautiful. The art style resembles woodblock prints, which is very pretty (to me). Detailed. Each suit of the minor arcana tells a story; you can line the cards up next to each other to see the entire picture. I've been drawing cards on a daily basis. It's given me a few things to think about.

School. Started working on classwork for number theory. My employer may have managed to talk me into completing my degree. We'll see. Clearly, getting this done matters more to everybody else than it does to me. I'll go to classes this week---there's still time before I can no longer get a refund---and see how I feel.

Life. Eh. I could write about myself. I'm tired and need to stretch. Tomorrow is Monday. Running full-speed ahead. Meeting up with a former coworker! My parents visited me today; my dad brought a lot of fruit, which was a nice surprise. I haven't had guava before. I think it needs another day to ripen; not much flavor to it. Kumquats are awesome <3

Cooking. Someone remind me to write up my macaroon recipes. I made some with mace that were a hit. I bought peppermints for a chocolate-peppermint cake this week. I also made a stir fry with bamboo shoots, lotus seeds, and ground beef. Note to self: remember to boil bamboo shoots for an hour _or more_. 45min was not long enough. Some are nice and sweet, but others are still bitter.

running out of time

It's Tuesday morning. I leave for work in two hours. Before then, I need to review the chapters of the linear algebra textbook that are being covered tonight. I also need to finish the summaries of two papers and run examples. Tonight, I need to finish the prob & stats hw, and then touch up my answers for number theory. I know I don't have free time. I'm going to spend time—waste time?—on my website anyways.

I spent yesterday hanging out with —! We met up and studied for a few hours, and then I brought her to the Asian bakery. She said she's been too scared to visit downtown on her own. Well, we're changing that! I'm taking her to — on Sunday. We'll visit the shops and market, and we'll study at the coffee shop (and people watch). I'm excited! We need to compile a list of local places to visit. Maybe do one every weekend? This is our reward for getting through each week of the semester. She's doing 18 credits, I'm now doing 15 and working full-time. Everyone is busy as hell.

Yesterday, I cooked up a pork butt. I don't have a wire rack, so I put it on a bed of onions (which taste pretty good). I covered it in a paste made of cilantro, coriander, white peppercorns, garlic, and fermented shrimp paste. I also added a bit of fish sauce (for good measure). I don't think I used enough of this paste—there are places that weren't hit by flavor—but, overall, the entire thing was very good. The skin was the best part---so fucking crispy. — said it's the best pork butt she's ever had. I'm bringing some to — today; wasn't planning to, but then I was accidentally rude and wanted to do something to offer context. So now he gets pork butt.

I made two broths that I'll mix some pork butt into. Usually, I make the entire dish at once, but I figured doing the meat and broth separately might make my life easier. Certainly took less time---instead of having one dish going on the stove at a time and waiting for the meat to be done cooking, I just popped the meat in the oven (for 7hr), then made some pastes, then mixed them in with chicken stock. Much less labor intensive than usual. This is also because I didn't need to cut up the meat---just trimmed the fat and popped it in the oven. Pork butt is nice because it is cheap and has flavor. — also pointed out I could make some "bomb-ass bone broth" with the bone in there...so now I know what my stove is doing on Sunday. I'll fry up the fat later.

Did a salad with arugula, dried cranberries, lotus seeds, and blue cheese. I was craving a salad, weird. Sometimes I buy pre-made ones that have lettuce (instead of arugula) and walnuts (instead of lotus seeds). I substituted lotus seeds for walnuts because lotus seeds have a slight nuttiness to them. Their flavor is much gentler. They're also a little sweet. Overall, the flavor has enough overlap with walnuts for me to know it would taste good.

Last night, I attended real analysis. The class (and professor) gave a positive impression; it'll be a bit of a thinker. I'm worried about taking fifteen credits of upper level math---that's at least 30hr on work outside of class each week, and they're upper-level classes, so you know they're going to take even more time. But. No choice. Gotta keep going. Plugging and chugging my way through.

i am lost inbetween

Ocean waters rising above your neck
You feel the glass start to crack
Ship in a Bottle - fin

Where does my thinking stop and my writing begin—yes, hello, reader. I asked my coworkers if I needed caffeine; one said no, and one said I looked like I was sick and tired of life. I had just been cutting a very strong batch of onions, which didn't help. I slept. Things have not improved since—I think that was Thursday—I seem to be ill. I blame this on the pack of fig newtons I ate one midnight. Sounds silly, but with how much crap goes into any ultra-processed food, I wouldn't put it past them. I set another goal: I was right to avoid ultra-processed foods, do not deviate for the fun of it. If I want cookies, I'll buy them from a local bakery. There is a difference in how I feel after eating them.

Keep setting goals and forgeting about them; I think this is normal.

Gossip about work. Is constantly being around people all it takes, to be on speaking terms with them? What makes this different? Maybe it's the shared goal—we're in this to kill tickets. Something something. I wonder why, in the past, constantly being around someone wasn't enough to be on speaking terms. Why, in the past, constantly being around someone resulted in them hating me, an increasing intolerance. I'm comparing people and school and work; no, I'm tired and losing my train of thought.

I can work in the kitchen when I'm tired. I go on autopilot—there's the ticket, there's the todo list, I know this like the back of my hand. School is a different beast. I need to think.

Yesterday, I learned to prep the veggies for a curry! I now know more than my other coworkers—how satisfying. I'm not competitive, I just need to be better than everybody else. There's a difference :D

Probability is a bitch.

I'm withdrawing. All of the information is insular; nothing to do with the real world. I have no input regarding the real world. Everything comes from myself—my constant need to dissect myself in writing, to write until everything makes sense, craving something that'll never come—, or gossip about work—how much of a connection can be formed by talking about ourselves and the minutiae of our lives?—, the only 'real' new thing is math, and this, too, is separate from reality. I know nothing.

Where is the time to be part of the world?—I wander around the city in a bubble. I have my familiar haunts. Am I talking myself out of going to new places?

I fall into familiar daydreams. I crave things. Sometimes it would be nice to come home to a familiar face; to come home to someone, and not just come home to my own lonesome self. A reminder of the world. I feel broken—I don't know how to live. I sit amongst my classmates and feel like a foreigner. I don't know these people. We live different lives. They know each other; they've been taking the same classes together. A lone woman in a sea of men.

I feel a hunger. For what?

My body is coated in pain. I should not have gone out last night. I should not go out tomorrow. I am physically exhausting myself. How much stretching will take the pain away?

The timer goes off. I must leave.

I fear becoming anonymous.

I write myself into existence.

do I have time to finish a homework assignment?

Can I find the time to respond to an email?

I took the time to write this. I owe it to a response. (I guess, sometimes, somebody is reading this? I'm caught off-guard by the notification—I don't expect people to use my email address, and yet...?)

time, part ii

How much time I don't have is on my mind. Monday night through Friday night, I suspect, is when time will always be on my mind. I have night classes Monday through Thursday; I tend to work 10am-6pm Tuesday through Friday. (I was told that, for the fall semester, I would be closing on Friday. Yet I've only been scheduled to open). At least I close on Saturday. So I have a break from 6pm Friday to 3pm Saturday—the most time I'll have had to myself since Monday. I have no choice but to dedicate the weekend to studying, and then I'll throw myself back into the grind on Monday night. If something isn't by Monday, it probably won't get done. Except I might be hanging out with my sister on Saturday morning, and I will be hanging out with someone else on Sunday. Ha. Ha. Ha. Now was not the time to develop a social life.

How many ways can I screw myself? I have a meeting with my thesis adviser in 30min. I'm not done with the things I said I was planning to get done this week—I've made progress, mind you. Fucking hell. I do not have the time to keep typing.

///

I come home from class; a weight is lifted from my shoulders. One week done. Fourteen more to go. One by one, they will pass. I comprehend none of the information my teachers try to pass on to me. I am too tired.

The egg bake was an amazing idea. Now, to find a way to take care of the rest of my food. I want to have fish balls tomorrow. I want ice cream for dinner. I need to be healthy. I have no idea what I'm doing.

???

"That shirt looks nice. What're you all dressed up for?"

"I—it's what I felt like wearing today. Are you saying I look good?"

"No, I said your shirt looks nice."

"Admit it, it looks good because I'm wearing it."

She sighs, rolls her eyes. "Okay, love. You're drop-dead gorgeous."

"There we go. See? It wasn't that hard."

???

Odd to have long term plans—"I'm serious if you are." I can't wait to talk about this again. It'll be a few years before any plans can be realized. If there are plans to be realized, they won't be impulsive. I'll test recipes on my coworkers. She'll handle the drinks. Maybe I can sell the whole idea to her; maybe she will refine it. Save it for Sunday. We can't talk about it at work.

Yesterday, I hung out with a friend(!). We studied—both of us got a lot of work done—and socialized and went shopping. Had lunch. Had dessert. Doesn't feel like there's much to report one. Made plans to meet up today; made plans to "do that again" next Sunday. YAY. Work/school/life balance is being achieved? There's more time than I realized. The weekday grind is real, but I can get everything done on weekends. I can actually get shit done! All hope is not lost.

I'm watching Arcane. The ending of episode 3 is painful. Genuine tragedy. Now that's what I call storytelling! I'll let myself watch more when I get home from class. Eight hours. I can wait eight hours. I'll spend some time reading (I have time), and then I'll meet up with — and study. Gotta put away my clothes, too—went to the laundromat.

///

"Why were you ignoring me?"

"I wasn't talking to you."

"You almost did. What did you want say?"

"Sometimes I realize there are things I should keep to myself."

She rolls her eyes. "Withholding information...y'know, you're just making me more curious. Let me guess: you were going to comment on my hair? I know it isn't great."

"I'm not obligated to continue this conversation."

"You're not walking away."

"I could."

"I'm not stopping you." Her back is to the corner of the wall; he's an inch away, his body angled towards her. She looks up at him. "What is it?"

"You can't wear clothes like that and expect to not attract attention."

She shrugs. "Maybe I want to attract attention." She looks over his shoulder, noting the absence of her other coworkers. "It happens."

He moves forward, slightly, and the side of his body brushes against her. This morning's chicken is on his breath.

"Well, you have my attention. What do you want with it?"

"Sex."

He chuckles. "I can always trust you to cut out the fluff."

"What? It's true." She crosses her arms, ignoring the way her left elbow presses below his ribs. "I'm not going to pretend it's about something else."

Thursday, 1:21am.

I can feel the dread in my stomach. And the consequences of eating food that went bad. Something's been sitting in there since Tuesday—a bad bit of holy basil, I think—though since I was finally hit with a few waves of diarrhea, things have started to clear out. I'm almost fine, I feel.

The stress doesn't help. Doing a self-paced project which I have no interest in is challenging. In the past week, I've made minimal progress on my thesis. I can get away with that this week. I can't get away with it next week. Tomorrow, my advisor will see my work for the first time. Fuck. Me. It's embarrassing.

Hearing my employer talk about me is embarassing. I'll be overhearing — tell — about how other people should learn from the way I behave; I accept corrections and try to do better. I listen. And so on.

I couldn't figure out if — was talking about me when he said something about "she's explaining to him, keeps repeating herself, and he's not listening." Could've been talking about a customer and the menu—devil knows that happens. I don't like explaining things to the no-longer-new boy. If I want him to listen, I have to be curt and treat him like a child. "Stop." "Put that down." "Don't do that." "Give me that." He, like two of the other people I work with, has no respect for me. They don't listen to me. They don't trust me to work in the kitchen. I'm in the back, only getting to help them when — calls them idiots, more or less, and has me jump in. They would rather be behind than ask me for help. It's ridiculous. Just for one day, I'd like — be "support." I'd love to see his ass hit the dishes. But no, dishes are "my job." I say that sarcastically. First, I presumed it was because I was new. I'm no longer new. I don't see the new guy doing the dishes— he thinks of them as mine.

Him and I argue over prep work. "Is there anything I need to do?" "The fridges need cleaned. We need to catch up on dishes. The sauce bottles need to be refilled. Expo needs to be restocked." "No, I meant prep." "I don't think so, but double-check line." "I'm asking you." And then I repeat myself a few times until he finally gets it through his head that, for that moment, I don't think there's anything that needs to be prepped, and he should look at line and figure out if there's anything that needs to be done. There isn't. I catch up with everything else, and then I clean the fridges. He stands around and chats with FoH.

I don't like snapping at him and other people. I feel guilty. Then again, I let off some steam, and they finally listen, so...

There's another new guy starting today.

I feel behind.

I feel unwelcome.

The one cook who I regularly work with—who has been here the longest—seems to trust me to do my work. If there's a rush, we have each others' back. We stay on top of things. The owners sure trust me to do the work. I'm the one working kitchen with the owners on Friday, ffs. I don't think the others treat me like I'm incompetent because I'm incompetent. I don't know why they treat me like I'm incompetent.

Is there a trace of misogyny at play? I have to wonder. I don't know what I could do to change that. I save their asses on a regular basis and they still don't trust me.

I want to scream.

???

I start to think about a set of song lyrics, and my urge is to use the internet to check if my interpretation is correct. Am I reading the subtext, or am I finding subtext where there's none? There are explicit references to something > how do you know they're explicit. Well, look up Holofernes; he's part of a Biblical tale. Writers draw on mythology; they're common stories for living people. A cultural context for humanity. Is it a stretch to see that subtext?

///

Impatience eats at me. I want more, now.

///

I sit with my thoughts and watch people in their cars. They blend together. I see old ladies chatting; groups of young people; a parent and their child. The brands of cars blend together.

///

I try to convince myself to stay in college. I try to convince myself I want to be in college. I try to convince myself I want what I can gain from my classes. I try to tell myself I care. I'm so close to graduating. I can count the months. The last part is the hardest. Just one more push, and then it'll be over.

I try to drown out the truth: I do not want this.

///

> visits a new boba place

> gets milk tea without boba

///

I feel like I'm avoiding the inevitable.

No.

rain

Can't you hear it?
It can hear you
It wants you to
Throw the plate at the wall
That Unwanted Animal - The Amazing Devil

It rained last night. Lighter than a downpour, but heavy enough for there to be significantly fewer pedestrians downtown. I went out for a donut and ice cream after work. I had a black sesame mochinut; it had a bitter, liquorice-like taste. I love how light and chewy the dough it. Mochinuts aren't as sweet or heavy as donuts from Dunkin. The place selling them is a chain, and for once I'm grateful for them being a chain. They feel different from the collection of Dunkin / Starbucks; McDonald's / Wendy's chains.

I'm sitting at Dunkin. There isn't much people-watching at 8:30am. Some people are grabbing food before class, but they're grabbing and going, not sitting down. The man in the corner resembles a former classmate. I wonder if he is him.

Two days ago, I withdrew from college. I sort-of spoke to another coworker about it. I was resting my forehead on line; he asked if I had eaten breakfast; I told him the truth. I couldn't remember. He pointed out that I could just be someone who needs to take a year off or something. Maybe I am. Maybe I'll go back in a few semesters; maybe I'll be a part-time student. Maybe I'll graduate, eventually. Maybe I just won't.

I haven't told my parents.

Or my employer.

Yet.

I can't let myself put it off for too long. I'm also worried about their reactions. I've gotten my mom's hopes up, again. Was this a waste of money? Hmm. I think obtaining independence was nice; I think that happened because I was in college. I've moved out! I have a job! I learned a few things. I forgot most of it. I feel like more of an outcast than I used to be. Did I fail?

I think I managed to leave just before I was going to fully burn out. I was on the brink of it, I think. My memory was going to shit. I'd leave work and find out what class I had that day; I'd go to class and find out whether or not I did the homework. I'd open the fridge and get excited: I had defrosted something! There's food I don't remember cooking, or buying. I know I'd been eating at Dunkin, as evidenced by the purchase history in their app. Shit, I'd been nine times this month...

///

Do I have anything else to add?

Work was okay. My coworker went over how to cook another dish. I'm trying to do a better job at filling in the blanks---gotta make sure he can disappear for two days without the place going _too_ far downhill.

I don't know where I'm going with this.

I don't think changing majors will solve my problems.

I want to read some. I want to write some. I want to cook some. I want some ideas. I want to make some music videos. I want to eat some food. I want to learn to cook good food. I want to make new pages for my website; I want to keep playing with CSS. I want to go places and eat. I want to go back to studying philosophy, and I want to understand real analysis. I want my house to feel clean; I want this place to feel like mine. I want to live with people who aren't strangers. I want to get better at cutting veggies. I want to eat a good bar of chocolate. I want to listen to good music. I want to make peach dumplings, or blueberry dumplings, and I want to make more coconut macaroons. I want to see how excited — gets when he tries my food; I want to hear my coworkers say they've been craving my cooking. I want to bring my coworkers a meal. Or have them over for dinner? Also: I'm fucking hungry! I want more yogurt. I want some sausages, too. I didn't actually eat lunch; just had some 50g piece of meat (roughly 1/4 of a serving). I had 1lb of ribs for breakfast. Doused 'em in teriyaki sauce. The sauce was okay; tbh, it needed to be a bit tangier? I think orange & orange skin would make it taste better.

0927

Last night was a fucking shitshow. I cannot keep my eyes on everything at once. I need to learn to. I need to micromanage one of my coworkers; when I don't, serious mistakes happen. I need to learn to keep track with everything she's doing, double-check her work, and do those things while doing everything else. FUCK ME. Last night was _bad_ and I am still stressed out. I need to do a better job at keeping an eye on expo. I can't assume that the FoH person standing near expo is running expo. I want to scream.

What else. I lost track of what I was doing. I did not keep my head on. I yelled at people. We did not have time for people to make mistakes. Expo was behind. Another cook was yelling at expo, and I have no idea what she was doing when she finished the plates I had her do. Why wasn't she helping with expo? There were things I told her to do that she didn't do. I cannot use a wok while running fryers while working on line DURING A RUSH. And it was a rush, and we did not handle it well and that made things that much worse. I needed to have two people on expo right off the bat. I think people were trading off expo, so that's why they didn't keep up with things being dropped in a different order than they came in.

Expo told me I dropped an order twice. Okay, whatever, I was stressed and lost track of what I was doing and wasn't surprised. It was food we could easily reuse. Then they realize that it was a different order. AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. At least we hadn't started reusing the food.

I yelled at more than one person. I was also on the verge of tears. I really needed to go on break at the end of the rush, and I couldn't, because if I take my eyes off of the cooks they will fuck up even more. New boy is fine, he's good for someone on his second week, but he doesn't know how to do everything and can't be left alone (yet). The girl is not fine. If she were, I could go on break, but she isn't and I could not fucking go on break. I needed a chance to breathe before being hit by another rush. I did not have a chance to breathe. The rush did not go well. I know I was told to step outside for a moment to breathe and I did not feel like I had the time to do so.

I'm still stressed. I need to cook, I don't know what to do. I'm going to go home and it's going to be noisy. I'm thinking about how the fridges aren't entirely restocked, how something needs to be prepped, some things I want prepped that aren't, one thing I wanted to get clean that I didn't have the time to clean. My heart is pounding. I want to cry. I'm sitting in a coffee shop and I'm stressed. I don't know how to do this. Life should be easier, and it isn't. What the hell do I need to do? What can I do?

I wanted to sit down and define some goals for the week. I want to have a sense of direction for how I'm using my time. I want something to show for my life. Instead, I'm tired and stressed and who the fuck knows what's going on. I need to cook, I need to sleep, there's always tomorrow. I don't think dropping out has hit me yet. It isn't real.

An employee of nine years is leaving. She has a full-time job, she's been giving us a hand on weekends. I liked her.

I don't know how to destress.

I don't know how to manage stress.

I wanted to buy another tarot deck, and nothing interests me.

Walking into small stores and buying nothing makes me feel embarassed.

There is an itch I can't scratch. A figurative one. An urge---I just need something to take the edge off. Just for a moment.

I feel so alone.

So very alone.

?

idk, cheesy lyrics

Gathering strength.

Moving forward.

???---in what direction---???

Welcome to the land of confusion.