A bed, a life, a purpose? Of course, and more...
To be in love with a cook is to be a cook yourself. Explanation might take too long, so I'll do my quickest and best. To actually be able to accept that you will not see nor touch your love/husband for at least a fucking week/decade is a hard road to be on. You may be lucky to get a hot minute of conversing or or hearing how the shift went, but then it's on to straight up solitude again. It is in comparison to living with a jet fueled zombie, and I signed up, with love, gladly. If there is ever a moment when you feel tired or worn down consider the men and women that are burning their fingers, minds and also sweating their lives away to make you feel good, to feed you, to make you happy. Consider also that there are also people valiantly waiting at home for when these soldiers of nourishment come home. Those meaningful and fleeting moments when that man comes through the door and puts his knives down in the living room, takes his coat off and slightly settles in, are like Goddamned Christmas day. It's fucking glorious thing to witness the simple moment when HE comes home. He is the person cooking your dinner.
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