What to do...........

Somehow, somewhere. I've lost my passion.

Cooking is no longer fun for me. It's a chore, a thing to be avoided, and the one thing I feared most.

A job.

I never thought I would say this, but I don't want to be a chef anymore.

I don't know how it happened, or when. Was I infected with the lethargy of those around me? Did I stop being challenged at some point? Is it because I'm not surrounded by things familiar? Or was I just never meant to be a cook? Was the past 4 years of my life a phase, a passing interest, a hobby I thought I could do for a living? Can I blame it on a guilty streak for my years of inactivity as a teenager? Along came something I enjoyed and thought I did well, so I threw myself into it with all I had.

I don't know the answers anymore. The things I once valued have changed. The things I never really cared for are becoming important. My goals are changing almost daily, and I struggle daily with wondering why....why me? Why do this? Why did they do that? Why keep doing it? What's the point......

I don't like who I've become lately. Short-tempered, isolated, and whiny as all hell (see entire journal post)

The only things keeping me from leaving so far have been the fact that I'd have to pay 800$ for cancelling my internship early. And a terrifying urge not to be the first to break. I'm certain if one other in the same situation as I'm in caved, I'd be right behind them. Probably passing them once the race started.

I keep waiting for something to change. Something drastic. For a revelation. A great "aha" moment where I realize all my wrongdoings, and am able to correct them like turning on a light switch. I know such moments don't exist outside of Hollywood Cinema, but that doesn't stop me from hoping now does it?

I have no plans right now, other than to endure. To hope. To wait for that great "aha" moment.

Maybe these are the insomniatic ramblings of a depressed youth. Maybe all young cooks go through this when they realize that this career is not all free food and playing with cool knives. Perchance this mood will fade. The only "aha" moment when I realize what a baby I'm being. Maybe this is all just a manifestation of my seemingly never-ending loneliness.

I don't even quite know why I'm writing all this down here. There are other more private places I can write. Where I'm not so vulnerable. I'm sure someone with a less than stellar opinion of me will read this, as is bound to happen whenever I write something down, and use it against me. Is this a cry for attention, help, pity?

"Ask again later."
Even the magic 8 ball, oracle of chance and fate, mocks my pain!

Enough introspection and self pity for the night. Don't worry, I'll still have plenty of it left for tomorrow. Hopefully we'll be busy enough that I can drown my self in some work. Temporarily distract myself from the extreme letdown my life has become.