A Stagiaire

Writing time doesn’t come as easily as it once did. When I started this thing years ago, I was single, jobless, incarcerated, and hopeless. Things have changed dramatically over the years, and instead of sitting down to write out my thoughts and my story, I’m trying to harness the energy of two children, a German shepherd, and a pregnant wife. These are all my favorite problems, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Today I mowed the huge lawn surrounding our home, and I kept thinking it was a good time to write: the hour between the lawn and going to the dog park, lunch, fixing the vacuum cleaner, doing the dishes, etc. I know, all of this is normal for normal people. I’m not normal. I have two belly buttons. I work a lot. I work three 12+-hour days, two eight hour days, and sometimes a sixth and even seventh day. In order for me to be useful to my family, I needed to take a step back, so when an opportunity presented itself, I pounced. I interviewed, worked a one-night stagiaire, and submitted my resignation letter this week all in the blink of an eye. I’ve been at my current place of employment for over three years—not bad for somebody that cooks for a living—and I’m not leaving for any other reason than I need to be at home more. I’ll be taking a step back in pay, title, and most importantly, hours. I will work under 40 hours per week, and only four days. It will leave me at home every Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and I will be home on Wednesday nights. As a professional cook, it is truly the best schedule I’ve ever had. As a dad, it’s the only schedule that will work for me. I’ll miss wearing the fancy coats, developing menus, creating specials, food costing, and management in general, but I won’t miss the stress and the long days. I will also be saving about an hour in driving every day. This, of course, was the brute before and after every shift that took even more away from my days. As I was weighing the pros and cons internally as I drove back from my stage (staj), that weighed heavily on my decision which I all but made when I realized I had already driven all the way home after just fourteen minutes. Home in fourteen minutes; I kept repeating that in my head the next day. I informed the powers that be that I was considering a change in hopes that they might offer me a little more work-life balance, but there was no offer of sympathy. I turned in my letter on the next shift. That’s all I’ve got. Who knows if I’ll start writing more again? The time will certainly open up, but I haven’t got a clue yet what I’ll be doing with all of it. Peace.