Art Imitates Life, or something like that.

"She is not happy until everyone around her is panicked, nauseous, or suicidal."

This is a line from the Devil Wear Prada, when Andie is describing her first day to her boyfriend.

This, I can relate to.

Now I know that bosses all around the world in every facet of industry are notorious for being awful, evil, manipulative, and downright psychotic. In this line of thinking I am not unique. And my boss isn't especially awful, but she does have the power of making me feel like I am about to throw up and probably burst into tears. Chefs around the world are notorious for this, and I have the benefit of having a boss who is probably one of the nicest chefs, despite everything else. One day I hope to experience more of the nice and less of the nausea.

Sometimes I think that if I wrote about a fictional world, with fictional people doing fictional things I might be more successful. In theory fiction means writing anything you'd like because there are an infinite amount of situations you can find yourself describing, and, if you're writing science fiction they don't even have to be realistic.

But I don't write about fictional people, I write about real people. Real people in my life, real situations I encounter, real constraints of plausibility and reality.

Which is why I think, that writing isn't so easy for me. Not because I am bound by the retelling of real events, no I have plenty of material in my life for that, but because writing about this life involves replaying, and revisiting these exact situations. . This isn't always a good thing.

Two horrendous back to back days of work preceded by a terrible service on Saturday has made me avoid writing like it's a bad ex-boyfriend.

I'm trying to leave work at work and my personal life at home, which is hard when everyone you work with wants to know the minutiae of your entire existence. And then I get to come home and obsess about things I did or maybe did not do at work. Did I remember to do everything at close? Is the door locked? Did I forget any extra requests? Is there catering tomorrow? Am I actually supposed to come in when I think I'm supposed to? Throw in the fact that I have started to flinch every time I hear my name because I am expecting to get yelled at (a current trend in my work-life) and I'm pretty much a mess 24/7.

It's exhausting. I'm mentally exhausted. But I have written 1300 words thus far, I have so many more in my head that hopefully sometime soon, with a glass of wine in hand, I'll recant in print. For now I'm at least trying to maintain some level of creative work because it makes me feel less guilty about writing so slowly. I started a painting that is nearly complete, and I have been picking out paint samples and fabric swatches for my room in my new place. I move in 10 days and I am *so* excited. In 10 days I'll also be going down to 2 shifts a week at work, which is great for my anxiety issues, but slightly sad for my wallet.

Hopefully it'll also give me more time to focus on activities. Fingers crossed.