Picture this:
Mackenzie.
Standing in the kitchen, windows open, A/C not working.
Hair pulled back, white tee, sweat beading across her face.
Eyebrows knit together in fierce concentration with occasional angry grunts escaping her.
Butcher knife branded and repeatedly stabbing at the counter.
Tomato sauce flying everywhere.

I'm guessing it looked like a horror scene from outside the window.

What really happened is that today was my first ever shift working legitimately alone. Dinner was frustrating me. Split pea soup. The recipe called for all this crap I've never even heard of! A bay leaf. What the frick is a bay leaf and why would I put it in only to take it out again twenty minutes later?! Add to that the fact that I still have to do laundry and pass the five o'clock meds. And I have three ladies breathing down my neck and crowding the kitchen space. One has no sense of personal space and will lean right into you with her big eyes and ask you the same questions over and over until she is satisfied. One is schizophrenic and walks around talking to herself and spitting while she's at it. The other wants to talk to you all the time and wants a response but doesn't speak any language known to man! But the biggest problem I was having - the can opener. You see, for as long I've lived I have never never never been able to use a can opener. And the recipe called for four different canned things. After a good ten minutes of breaking my hands and the can on the opener I gave up and gave the big ole butcher knife a go.

That got the job done.