I survived the fifth week of culinary school with 18 more to go, which means I’m about 22% into the process. Originally, I thought I would chronicle my culinary endeavors on this blog, but you may have noticed my culinary postings have been light.

Truth is, I’m just surviving. This adventure is not fun for me. Chef doesn’t like me and he rides me hard – all day, every day. The more I try, the more he nit-picks. At first, I thought perhaps he saw potential in me, but now I’m convinced that’s not the case. He’s placed me with a different cooking partner – the slowest woman in the class, a bit of a scatterbrain, and the only person I think he dislikes more than me. He’s placed us closest to him – so he can watch us and correct us easier. I am not a fuck-up in the kitchen, but he makes me feel so. Do I have a big tattoo on my forehead that says, “Abuse me”? He has sucked the joy right out of the process.

At the end of the day, I’m defeated, deflated, and ready to kick a stray dog. This is nothing I want to chronicle.