Same Old Shit

Yesterday marked my return to the fabulous world of those who serve tables in restaurants. And it's now been solidified. I'm sick of it. For precisely half of my life and my entire working career I have had my hand in the service industry. I have been masterfully planning my escape and last night put a staple in it. So it's bitter sweet. The sheer loathing of being there is actually wicked motivation to just get the fuck out. What's my plan you ask? Well, being 56% bipolar, I have a ton of interests to combat my sudden bouts of complete boredom. My ultimate goal is to be a food writer/editor for a major food magazine. So I'm going back to finish University with a degree in English. In the mean time, my kids are still really young and to avoid the insane costs of daycare I'm forced to work nights. But I cannot keep on serving tables for the next 5 years. Instead, I'm finishing my grade 10 with the Royal Conservatory for piano so that I can start teaching. It's not imperative that I have the grade 10 to teach, I just think it's important for a teacher to know as much as possible and to always be learning. Somewhere in between I'm also going to culinary school. I was accepted about 6 years ago and ditched that for a job managing the kitchen in a steak house. In my mind food writer should be as versed as possible in both. And who knows, maybe I won't get a job for a mag at all. Maybe I can toss my theatre training in there too and be the next Rachael Ray but far less annoying...and hotter. Much hotter. Especially after I hire Chuck Norris as a personal trainer with all the money I'm making with my bipolar empire. MUAWWW HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!