Chef fell asleep with a burrito yesterday.
He does this a lot. In fact, a lot of chefs do this (as confirmed with other restaurant spouses) because they come home hungry but they have that post-work adrenaline rush…and then crash. I’ve yelled at him repeatedly about this because it isn’t healthy. Emotionally, it’s depressing because we really only get to talk like adult humans twice a week (texting doesn’t count) because he’s constantly so drained — I’m still very dumbfounded by the glamorization of the occupation and why people want to date chefs — no one really thinks about the emotional ramifications that occur when you’re in a relationship with a chef. It’s also not a secret that chefs suck a work and personal life balance because of the amount of work that needs to be put into a restaurant. The burrito gets more love than I do.
Another FML moment this week: On the resumes I sent out this week, my education section was erroneously labeled as work experience and vice versa because I had swapped the sections. So much for being “detail-oriented” but I know that I’ve stared at my resume for so long (and so many times) that I don’t notice little details like that any more. Hello, semantic satiation. Psychologically, it’s causing massive anxiety and paranoia now. Ugh. Although I’m trying to keep it in perspective that my life is pretty good, all of these little FML moments and things add up and you just want to…
exploooooode, you know?
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