Once a pinnacle of filing folders and carefully dated calendars, I sit here now staring at magazines, pens, a fallen Battlestar Galactica Cylon doll, a bottle of nail polish, and a crumbled up gym schedule, which mocks me with good intentions. I know that there are forgotten projects and ambitions beneath the clutter that was once a desk, but somehow, all I can focus on is not napping and clearing a small safe, corner where my wine glass can sit out of harm’s way.
Grad school starts in three weeks – oh, and the new banquet facility at my job opens in three weeks, as well. I suppose this is why people look at you funny when you say you’re going to culinary school – this is not a life one is supposed to choose. We are supposed to choose a path free from sweat, oven burns, and fourteen hours on one’s feet. Still, I’m filled with an excitement and I never wake up with the pit of dread in my stomach I remember during law school days – this is my litmus test for happiness – whether or not I need to spontaneously move to another state, or if I should make a drastic, emotionally-charged hair-cut decision.
So, despite the fatigue, I am happy to work – exhausted, but happy. Despite my desk waiting to be unearthed and the worry that my life will never achieve a healthy balance, I am making marshmallows, cakes, bread and candy – how can that be bad? I am working hard. I am trying my best. I am learning. And I am creating.