“No books in the kitchen,” I told myself sternly as I longed for the 4th Harry Potter tucked under the arm of my sleeping boyfriend. It seems a pretty solid rule. The memories of burnt something-or-others are far too numerous for a twenty-five year old. I get lost far too easily between the covers of great fiction… RIP all you charred, blackened, crispy remains of past dinners. I’m so sorry for failing you.
I wonder if everyone’s inner voice is a conversational as mine.
I love the idea of cooking school – learning the proper way to do things like chop small slippery veggies and crack eggs single-handedly. However, there is a part of me that fears this enjoyment is just another 6 month love. How do I know if it’s not a fad? Well. Not trying is the only sure way to fail. I can’t let these fears of dabbling prevent me from finding a career I really love. Dabbling in various ‘loves’ is just a part of who I am – something I still struggle to come to terms with. It’s so easy to fall head-over-heels for something but in time I realize it’s just not my ‘thing’.
Someday, I want to be an author writing stories like the ones I’ve loved since childhood. Until then, I need a day job I am, if not passionate about, can at least really enjoy. Where is it? Where is that job?