Done

Yep: done. Done with this season; done with this routine.; with Kelowna; with competitions...

The last of all the 'done-withs' i should never have been 'doing.' I have said this before, not too long ago, actually, but i do not enjoy, or willingly partake in, competitions. So there was Italy on the line, how could i not, but tonights event, why did i?

To help out the boss-chef, who covered the stress factor for the both of us, organizing the event to the very last minute (including my plating...) it seemed. He needed another competitor, and i said i would help. This would not be as big a deal as the last, after all: there was no secret blackbox, most could be prepared ahead of time, and there would be wine, right beside me. It was $750 up for grabs, half a penny--if that-- in comparison to a life in Italy. Honestly, i did not mind competing this time, just doing it to lower his blood pressure, and looking forward to a night off, seeing dave and cheffrey and sampling wines.

I didnt win, and to be honest a second time, i am hardly phased. I received enough second helping admittances, and chef pats on the back (and self satisfaction; that was, eventually--three hours later--a tasty dinner)What i am tired of, what has brought me to write here, then, is sheer and utter exhaustion with life; doneness.

Being involved in such competitions is all-consuming. Even if you have your dish one hundred percent thought out, supplied and prepped, it is still the only thing you can think about. Minutes before and (if you do not win) long moments afterward, yout htink of what you could (a) do (ne). Sleep is lost, aimless pacing is done, and a few days of life simply dissipates unil you are just done.

like me, now. done.

no more cooking for a prize, how about jsut cooking again. and please, no more goatcheese polenta.