In the past three days, I have cooked over 160 filets. Only one of them was sent back. Soba's ten year anniversary menu is trying to destroy me, but I won't let it, because I am a huge badass.

I am, however, very badly burned all over my hands and arms, and exhausted. Tomorrow I'm going to show up ridiculously early again, cut up two 50-pound cases of potatoes, and cook some very, very nice food. Then I've got two beautiful days off in a row.

It's pretty nice to not have a big, clunky PC making noise in my apartment anymore, though it has made me more conscious of my refridgerator's ancient compressor. I'm slowly parting it out on craigslist (a very helpful resource right now, since I've got only a few dollars to my name due to the break in the pay period for the new year), so hopefully I'll have the whole machine out of here soon. I don't know why, but it's just nice to think that I don't have too much stuff bogging my life down--if, and probably when I move out of here in the summer, I don't want to haul tons of shit around. Last time around, every one of my material possessions fit into a Plymouth Acclaim.

Actually, now that I think about it, it's really crazy to think it's January already, and my lease on my first apartment will be up in five months or so.