Another Slow Motion Day

Having taken off to see Iron Maiden Thursday; I enjoyed an extra day of rest to help me to stave off the slow encroachment of massive neurotic burnout for another week (hopefully), but with all honesty, I’m only now moving my fat Pavoratti looking ass and cleaning up around the house.  It took all my willpower to type out my grandfather’s recipie, start dinner (yet another, but luckily the final push to use up all the leftovers safe for human & feline consumption to give ourselves a fresh palate for when we go food shopping tomorrow morning-it will either be a soup or stew depending on the viscosity when I open the pressure cooker) , and start on the dishes that had piled up in the sink-leaving dishes is incredibly out of character for me by the way, ask Bunny.  So now I sit here writing nothing in particular to the soundtrack of the dish washer, the delightfully dangerous hisses of the pressure cooker and the boys playing  “Super Smash Brothers”.  I briefly interrupt this reverie to tell Logan to fix his shirt (he looked like he was about to begin an impromptu “truffle shuffle”), now where was I? 

Oh yes; I’m stressed out to all hell. 

And why? 

 Because of there not being enough money, and the fact that both Shu & I have questionably secure employment at best.  That is the de riguer in FL as well as the rest of the country right now, especially for restaurant apes like ourselves.  Having kids is what makes it more terrifying than amusing. 

 You see I fell in love with serving (yes serving) rather late in life, I had my first waiter job at 30 and did fantastic.  While I do admit that I got the job by lying more than a congressman attempting to explain away pictures of him making out with an underage-latino-tranny-prostitute with an overly developed adam’s apple and enormously thick wrists, I enjoyed it because it was the first job I had had where the quality of your work directly effected the money in your pocket.  Believe it or not I averaged 25% in tips, and my preference for high end serving and the tickets involved I did quite well.

Then the resturant Iwas in closed , I took a high paying but burnout inducing job, as a bouncer and now I’m a cook… for now at least.  I’m just worried, like my dad always said; “Life is like a shit sandwitch: the more bread you’ve got the less shit you have to eat.”

He would like say it every 15 minutes, he was kinda weird that way…

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