The kitchen.

I don’t enjoy cooking. Or baking. I liked my role as a sous chef in my previous relationship: making sure the chef has everything they need at the right time, and the counter top is cleaned routinely to make space for subsequent steps in the preparation of a dish. That… I love. I love supporting my partner like that in the kitchen. But me? No way I voluntarily cook.

Sure, yeah, I can cook. I can save my life. Just don’t like it.

I think…I like it even less when the kitchen is not mine. I didn’t arrange it, the tools are not my own, and the space does not have a me-flavour to it. Then… even if I want to help a family member, I can’t. I hate being confused – what’s where, why etc.

🎧 Sufjan Stevens — Chicago

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