I just... I don't know what to do. I’m 59 years old and I feel like I just screwed up the biggest chance I’ve had in probably twenty years and I’m just sitting here, 2 AM, staring at my phone and wondering how I got here. They offered me sous chef, at this place, this high-end bistro, you know? Like, linen napkins and silverware you actually have to polish, not just run through the machine. And for someone like me, who’s been bouncing from gig to gig, catering here, a little diner work there, for so long, no benefits, always hustling, always wondering where the next rent check is coming from, this was... this was IT. This was the one. So the executive chef, Chef Antoine, he tells me, “We want you to do a trial shift. Show us what you got. We’re thinking sous chef, you know, run the line, lead the team.” And I was FLOORED. My hands were shaking when he said it. I’ve worked with him before, years ago, when he was just starting out, and I guess he remembered me. Said I had a good head for it, a good touch with the food. And I really do, I think. I love cooking. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been truly good at, the only thing that really makes sense to me. So I went home, and I was just, like, buzzing. Thinking about what I’d do, how I’d organize the prep, the specials I’d suggest. This was my legacy, maybe. My last big shot. And then... I don’t know. I sat down, turned on the Xbox. Just for a bit, you know? To unwind. And one hour turned into two, and two turned into four, and then the sun was coming up. My alarm was set for 6 AM, and I was still playing that stupid space game. I was SO tired. My eyes felt like sandpaper. My head was foggy. And I just kept thinking, “One more level. Just one more.” Is that weird? Does everyone feel this sometimes? Like you just can’t stop doing the exact thing you know you shouldn’t be doing? I barely slept. Maybe an hour, an hour and a half. I went in, and I tried. I really did. But my hands were slow. I kept messing up simple things. Burnt the roux for the béchamel, twice. Almost dropped a tray of freshly baked sourdough. Chef Antoine, he just kept looking at me. Not angry, just… disappointed. Like he expected more. And he SHOULD have expected more. He kept asking me to repeat things, "Did you hear me, Frank?" And I barely did. I couldn't focus. Everything was a blur. By the end of the shift, I felt like I'd run a marathon, and not in a good way. And I knew. I just knew I’d blown it. He just said, “We’ll be in touch,” and his voice was so flat. And I just nodded, and walked out, feeling like such a fool. So now I’m here. Still playing that damn game. But it’s not even fun anymore. Just… doing it. And I'm thinking about how stupid I am, how I let myself do this. After all these years, after all the scrapes and the struggle, to just throw away a chance like that, because of a video game. It’s not like I have a safety net, you know? No retirement fund, no company pension. This was it. And I just... I don't know what I'll do now. The rent's due next week. And I just feel this pit in my stomach, like a knife twisting, and I just can't shake it. And I wish I could go back. I just wish I could go back and tell myself to put the controller down. But I can't.