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Well, I don't really want to be a Chef anymore.
The writing thing seems to be going ok. I don't expect miracles, but I've met writers, PROPER ones, and fucksake they are not THAT special... I think that I might get a bit of work doing that anyway. I can fall back on the cooking gig I guess. But I don't wanna be in cooking anymore. Getting too old for the life. And it IS a Life.
I mean, it goes a bit like this.
Chef=Long Hours=Hard Work=Physical Debilitation=Mental Loonyness=Murderous Urges=Heavy Drinking=Late Nights=Unsociable Hours=One forms a Party Crew=Affairs=Drugs=Vendettas=SHIT
Same old, Night after fucking Night.
I used to be a relatively normal guy. You probably don't believe that, but it's true. Sort of. I mean, my mind's always been a little strange.
But I YEARN for stability, Gra-Gra.
I'd still like to play with Submarines in the Bath, of course. |
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