Turning Point

I stood staring at the locked car door. For a May morning the yard felt cold. I stared through the drivers side window at the steering wheel. The thought of opening the door and climbing into the car was more than I could cope with. The thought of a 36 mile journey to an office made me feel sick. Pulling on my socks earlier had been an effort but this was different. Something was very wrong.

Ten months later I am standing in an empty sandwich shop listening to the hum of refrigerators and I can't remember feeling this excited. The smells of stale cooking oil and long forgotten food scraps are overpowering. My boots slip on the grease covered laminate floor. I discover yesterdays forgotten sweet and sour chicken in the microwave. Overwhelmed by the cadaverous stench of the meat fridge I yell 'dirty bastards'.

I've just been handed the keys to 'The Oven'. I now own it. I am now a small business person. I am no longer depressed. I am no longer suffering crippling anxiety attacks. I am going to open a cafe, a sanctuary and a future. To quote a song which has spun around my head for ten years, a 'Reason for living'. But first I am going to rescue an onion from behind a gas oven which breaks every health and safety regulation.