They want me to provide them with the blueprint, ingredients, and exact details of how to affordably feed and provide nutrition to their financially struggling veterans.
I cannot believe it, and it is touching being on locations and seeing the heroic veterans in need.
As I help build out a more detailed model, to purchase food, to cook, and the actual menu and blueprint for the locations, I continue with my primary plan.
I keep cooking and delivering the sample meals to locations two and three.
It is full on, but I feel like I’m doing the right thing.
I also volunteer at a city mission, on their meal side. I want eyes on the ground because there is a chance my model will work for even more locations.
The work is not exactly five-star Michelin level cuisine, like I have done in Rome, Paris, Miami and London, but it’s good to give back and learn.
It is also feeding my soul, and I feel like less of a failure. My life plan is developing, and it’s becoming simple.
I will use all the money he sent to do this. Firstly, I will try and lock in three locations in Austin.
I will then move around more states. I will see the country I love, and I will help more people in need across America.
City by city and state by state, I will try to help people everywhere, and if I one day find a guy and maybe have kids later, then great.
If not, I will simply help others. Kind of like Mother Theresa! Help and have no sex.
Yikes.
If I can find two or three locations a month and make two or three hundred people healthier a month, I will feel good.
My spirit will also hopefully rise, again.
Besides having a broken spirit, I’m a mess, inside and out. Partly because I’ve not come since leaving him.
I decided to give up on orgasms; they are a thing of the past, like men.
As I help cookin the city mission, I wipe sweat from my cheek and catch my breath. It is full on work, but it’s important work.
It’s day three for me in a row, and it’s late afternoon in the building. As the late sun streams in, I help the usual staff cook their meals.
There is something about volunteering that is good for the soul.
I am unsure what it is, but it does help my broken heart.
After we finish cooking, we move the large full pots and dishes onto the long tables, and someone gives the go ahead.
The doors are opened, and folk in need come in, forming a line. As I have observed over the last few days, most people are gentle.
Many also know each other, and colorful banter begins.
Some of the locals are funny, and most are older folk. They give each other a hard time, and several of the cooks dish out playful comments besides the warm food.
As I scoop creamy mashed potatoes with cheese and garlic onto people’s plates, they stream past.
My phone chimes, and I yank it out fast to avoid slowing the queue or getting a raised brow.
Good luck.
I shake my head to clear it, fast.
It was from my pal Cassidy in LA. She must finally be having that breakdown.
