p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"When I jolt awake from a restless sleep it's dark around me. Muddled noises of passing cars and voices drift in through the window across the room and I slowly blink the sleep from my eyes./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I feel weirdly rested although it must be very late at night. I make my way to the kitchen, or kitchenette I should say, as it only consist of a hot plate, a mini fridge, a sink and a seemingly broken old microwave. I yawn widely, checking the time: 11PM. Shit. I curse myself softly./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I'm wide awake now, clearly suffering from jetlag. I open the mini fridge and sigh irritably. It's not even plugged in. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Maybe I could go and see if that corner store was still open? I put on my shoes and head out into the warm San Diego night./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"The neighborhood, as I find out, it not that great. There's some trash strewn about here and there and I count at least three shopping carts as I walk down the street. It's not that I feel unsafe or anything, seeing as I'm quite tall and imposing (I'd like to think). San Diego hasn't stolen my heart yet, let's just keep it at that./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Supposedly the beaches here are nice, so I make a mental note to travel down to the shore after I finish meeting the team today. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I feel a bit awkward sitting in a diner all by myself, late at night but seeing Pablo's corner shop was already closed and I couldn't ignore my rumbling stomach any longer I'm sitting in a corner booth at Lucky's behind a steaming mug of tea. I look out over the other patrons from my little corner, there's all sorts around this part of San Diego late at night apparently./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I order a stack of blueberry pancakes and a side of baconem, 'how American of me'/em I think to myself, and I relax while watching the busy street outside of the window./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"The pancakes are warm and filling and come in huge portions, which I wolf them down and wash away with copious amounts of strong black tea. It keeps getting miraculously refilled while I stare dreamily out of the window into the night. I check my phone, a few messages from my parents and Mariel have come in, asking how the apartment is. 'Great', and how my flight was. 'Less Great'. I scrape of every last drop of syrup with the last bite of pancake, down the mug of tea once more and go to pay with my credit card at the counter. The place is still quite full for midnight on a Thursday and seems to be a haven for a lot of other San Diegans sitting by themselves in the booths and at the counter. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I'm wide awake as I make my way back to my apartment, it must be morning at home, seeing as I feel ready to take on the day. As I take a small detour through the San Diego streets, hopefully to get to know the neighborhood a little better, my mind drifts back to a certain man…..No. I stop myself. He is probably at work already, having just left his wife at home to go to the restaurant. I swallow away my guilt thickly, as I make it back to my ratty old studio apartment just off Newton avenue. Right. Seven more hours till I meet my new team at Canelé style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanI flop down onto the Cheeto-scented couch and take out my laptop, ready to start my workday, making a note in my phone to buy some air freshener or linen freshener tomorrow. Today. Later./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I check out Canelé website. emLooks like shit/em. I think to myself./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Then I scroll through their selection of baked goods, which look fine but are seemingly quite pricey. I sigh, there's more than enough work cut out for me. It wasn't like I hadn't already spent hours and hours scrolling through this page, as I had been planning and jotting down recipes and ideas in my notebook. I am meeting Henry at 07.00 AM sharp, and had beforehand decided that I could take a bus to the bakery. I glance at the microwave 01.00. I should probably get some more sleep, but I can't help scrolling through my phone again, checking my Instagram and Twitter. I scroll past dozens of pictures of my old work: me, smiling while crouching down with my colleagues in front of a massive pastry display, me, smiling as I point excitedly towards a beautiful blackberry macaron perched on top of my open hand. I looked so happy. I sigh defeatedly, why did I have to go and screw everything up? emLiterally./em/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I scroll past a specific picture of me and Jack. Beautiful, gorgeous, sexy Jack. Both of us smiling happily from behind a work station in the Amsterdam kitchen. emShit/em. br /A single tear trails softly down my face, I wipe it away angrily throwing my phone across the room. It skids across the beige frumpy carpet, coming to a still in the corner of the tiny room./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Jack had made it very clear that it was to be a secret, our emfling/em. But at that point I was already completely smitten by him, too far gone to realize I was putting my career on the line by sleeping with a co-worker, falling in love with a co-worker. Obviously the joke was on me now, seeing as Jack was still in Amsterdam, happily married to his wife. Not trying to desperately salvage a career halfway across the world./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I decide to unpack my bags, trying to make myself feel more at home here, I make the bed with the supplied linen, it's not the cleanest or the most crisp but it will have to do. I unpack my clothes, putting them neatly in the dresser at the foot of the bed and I hang my chefs whites on a hanger over the door, my work shoes sit next to the nightstand. I yawn as I put my little bag of toiletries in the tiny moldy bathroom. I set my alarm for 06.00 AM and crawl, fully dressed, on top of th comforter, trying to get a little more rest before this new chapter of my life begins. /spanemDramatic./em I scold myself./p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I feel weirdly rested although it must be very late at night. I make my way to the kitchen, or kitchenette I should say, as it only consist of a hot plate, a mini fridge, a sink and a seemingly broken old microwave. I yawn widely, checking the time: 11PM. Shit. I curse myself softly./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I'm wide awake now, clearly suffering from jetlag. I open the mini fridge and sigh irritably. It's not even plugged in. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Maybe I could go and see if that corner store was still open? I put on my shoes and head out into the warm San Diego night./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"The neighborhood, as I find out, it not that great. There's some trash strewn about here and there and I count at least three shopping carts as I walk down the street. It's not that I feel unsafe or anything, seeing as I'm quite tall and imposing (I'd like to think). San Diego hasn't stolen my heart yet, let's just keep it at that./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Supposedly the beaches here are nice, so I make a mental note to travel down to the shore after I finish meeting the team today. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I feel a bit awkward sitting in a diner all by myself, late at night but seeing Pablo's corner shop was already closed and I couldn't ignore my rumbling stomach any longer I'm sitting in a corner booth at Lucky's behind a steaming mug of tea. I look out over the other patrons from my little corner, there's all sorts around this part of San Diego late at night apparently./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I order a stack of blueberry pancakes and a side of baconem, 'how American of me'/em I think to myself, and I relax while watching the busy street outside of the window./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"The pancakes are warm and filling and come in huge portions, which I wolf them down and wash away with copious amounts of strong black tea. It keeps getting miraculously refilled while I stare dreamily out of the window into the night. I check my phone, a few messages from my parents and Mariel have come in, asking how the apartment is. 'Great', and how my flight was. 'Less Great'. I scrape of every last drop of syrup with the last bite of pancake, down the mug of tea once more and go to pay with my credit card at the counter. The place is still quite full for midnight on a Thursday and seems to be a haven for a lot of other San Diegans sitting by themselves in the booths and at the counter. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I'm wide awake as I make my way back to my apartment, it must be morning at home, seeing as I feel ready to take on the day. As I take a small detour through the San Diego streets, hopefully to get to know the neighborhood a little better, my mind drifts back to a certain man…..No. I stop myself. He is probably at work already, having just left his wife at home to go to the restaurant. I swallow away my guilt thickly, as I make it back to my ratty old studio apartment just off Newton avenue. Right. Seven more hours till I meet my new team at Canelé style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanI flop down onto the Cheeto-scented couch and take out my laptop, ready to start my workday, making a note in my phone to buy some air freshener or linen freshener tomorrow. Today. Later./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I check out Canelé website. emLooks like shit/em. I think to myself./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Then I scroll through their selection of baked goods, which look fine but are seemingly quite pricey. I sigh, there's more than enough work cut out for me. It wasn't like I hadn't already spent hours and hours scrolling through this page, as I had been planning and jotting down recipes and ideas in my notebook. I am meeting Henry at 07.00 AM sharp, and had beforehand decided that I could take a bus to the bakery. I glance at the microwave 01.00. I should probably get some more sleep, but I can't help scrolling through my phone again, checking my Instagram and Twitter. I scroll past dozens of pictures of my old work: me, smiling while crouching down with my colleagues in front of a massive pastry display, me, smiling as I point excitedly towards a beautiful blackberry macaron perched on top of my open hand. I looked so happy. I sigh defeatedly, why did I have to go and screw everything up? emLiterally./em/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I scroll past a specific picture of me and Jack. Beautiful, gorgeous, sexy Jack. Both of us smiling happily from behind a work station in the Amsterdam kitchen. emShit/em. br /A single tear trails softly down my face, I wipe it away angrily throwing my phone across the room. It skids across the beige frumpy carpet, coming to a still in the corner of the tiny room./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"Jack had made it very clear that it was to be a secret, our emfling/em. But at that point I was already completely smitten by him, too far gone to realize I was putting my career on the line by sleeping with a co-worker, falling in love with a co-worker. Obviously the joke was on me now, seeing as Jack was still in Amsterdam, happily married to his wife. Not trying to desperately salvage a career halfway across the world./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"I decide to unpack my bags, trying to make myself feel more at home here, I make the bed with the supplied linen, it's not the cleanest or the most crisp but it will have to do. I unpack my clothes, putting them neatly in the dresser at the foot of the bed and I hang my chefs whites on a hanger over the door, my work shoes sit next to the nightstand. I yawn as I put my little bag of toiletries in the tiny moldy bathroom. I set my alarm for 06.00 AM and crawl, fully dressed, on top of th comforter, trying to get a little more rest before this new chapter of my life begins. /spanemDramatic./em I scold myself./p