Feeling the buzz of the wine, I load up my car with all of my kitchen equipment. Another “Friday night soup class” is over, I can’t believe it has been almost 6 weeks since we first started. Outside is absolutely still around the Shinn park and bungalow. The house is a little creepy. It was built in 1848, who knows what energy still lives in there. I sure as hell don’t want to find out. I lie to my students when I tell them that I’m not scared being there by myself as they leave. But I would rather them leave than have to wait and watch me take out everything they just put away and painfully rearrange it back into the order that I feel comfortable with. Control freak? No doubt. I guess it might just be easier if I had explained to them earlier on how I want everything arranged all the time, but I was afraid that would make me look crazy. After 2 hours of this high intense energy that I seemed to have mustered up out of nowhere, I really need some time to come down without anyone being there. Tonight doesn’t seem as scary, maybe because it’s not raining and I can actually see around me or maybe it’s this wine. I take my time wheeling my ice chest to the car and inhale the night. A familiar smell wafts up my nose and I get a vision: The beach. It’s the smell of burning leaves, one of my favorite odors. It’s always been connected to happy memories in my life. I sigh and realize that I haven’t written in awhile.

I don’t wear my crucifix anymore. I was raised Catholic and as time goes on, I find myself becoming less of a believer. It’s pretty liberating. I do admit that there are times when I do pray and sometimes I still feel that there is this ominous presence watching me, but I blame that on the fact I went to Catholic school. And I pray because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know any proper coping techniques when something goes wrong. Which is one of the reasons I wore my crucifix. I would wear it on those “special” occasions I thought would be particularly difficult. Like if I were driving a long distance by myself in the rain, I would wear it. Any situation I had no control over, whether I was flying or going on a blind date, I would wear it. It was like saying a prayer without having to say the prayer. And I put a lot of faith into it. But I don’t do that anymore. I’m starting to accept that nothing is for certain. I’m letting go and that’s a good thing. I don’t mock religion or having faith in a higher being. That’s a good thing to have. I’m just saying that I don’t put so much energy into any religion. I felt let down a lot when I did and that was my fault.I didn’t want to be responsible if things went wrong or not as I expected. It was a big deal.

I can drive down Paseo Padre in my sleep. I take it often. It’s not exactly the highway but it has less stoplights than Fremont Blvd. Plus, it’s much more scenic. As I drive, I think about tonight’s class and the advice I gave one of my students. She was so overwhelmed by all the information I was trying to cram down their throats in 2 hours. I told her to “be here now”. I advised her not to think about what we just did or what we are about to do, but to be present. All she had to worry about was not burning her onions. She seemed to grasp that idea and relaxed a little. It didn’t really sound like something I would say but I was impressed with myself anyways.

There are days when I hate living in this small town. Well it’s not really small, population wise it’s pretty big. It actually engulfs another city; it could very well take someone a good 45 min to drive to the other end of town, depending on the road you take. I guess technically, it’s not really small. But when you grow up in it, it can seem very small. All the places are the same. All the faces and characters on the street are the same. When you’re young, you don’t really notice it. But as you get you older, you appreciate it. It is what makes your town unique. You find the things that are special about it. You have to really, otherwise, living there would be unbearable. When you find those things the moment can be truly moving. I surprise even myself when the tears start to fall down my face. But for once, it’s not because I’m sad. The beauty and charm of my town has overwhelmed me to tears. I compose my self as I continue home. I realize that the places, the things, the beauty and charm of a town is not what makes it so unique: it is the people. I think about my friends and feel blessed. There have been so many times when I’ve wanted to tell them, “Thank you for sharing this moment with me. I don’t think there is anyone else I’d rather share it with” But people don’t talk like that to each other. It makes them feel uncomfortable. Only people who are truly in love with each other say things like that. And as much as I love my friends, I wish there was a way for me to show them that I do.

“I’d rather be a hammer than a nail/ yes I would if I could/Away, I’d rather sail away/ Like a swan that’s here and gone/A man grows older every day/ It gives the world its saddest sound/its saddest sound.” -Simon and Garfunkel

I feel very out of touch right now. It’s the best way I can describe it. When I feel this way, I feel the urge to create something. But not so much create something but to be a part of something creative. This feeling makes me miss working in restaurants. I miss the noise and the chaos…

You dread it every time. You pray to god that you don’t fall behind or it would be your behind! It’s just 3 hours. 3 measly hours of running, screaming, knives flying, and fire burning. It’s unreal; surreal. Your body goes into a different state of being. It’s fight or flight. There’s no time to stop and think, it’s all muscle memory from here on. And the masterpiece you’ve created on that plate is short lived as it goes out into the dining room; you know this. But another order has just come in through the ticket machine. That damn ticket machine! You wish it would shut up. It infiltrates your nightmares and the mere sound of it will haunt you forever.  The orders pile up one after another, sometimes they spit out so fast it snakes to the floor before you even complete a dish. It’s hell on earth. It’s like running a never ending marathon. You sweat. You cry. Will you get hurt? That’s a guarantee. You can leave, but like a bad relationship, you return. You can quit, but like a drug addiction, you crave it. It’s an itch; an urge. Because when it’s finally over; when you finally get that chance to breathe, the satisfaction is overwhelming.