I'm sorry, soup

   Today has not gone so well. The soup is just the last straw. I woke up at 6:39am with the intention of going to my mock French exam, which I presumed was this morning. I got up. I danced around my bedroom for all of five minutes in an attempt to wake up. I then slumped onto the bed in exhaustion. Woke up ten minutes later. Had a bit of a panic. I only said that because I don't know how to spell "panicked." Is that a word? There's a spell checker on this thing, but I'm not keen to use it because it tried to Americanise all my spelling, and I'm not American, I live in New Zealand. Also I haven't learnt how to change the spell checker to NZ English.

   I had three coffees this morning, in my eagerness to be awake during the exam. Three coffees. And I still wasn't awake. I just needed to pee a lot. Gah.

   I went on my dad's bus this morning, and it was freezing, and that bloody kid that's on it was yelling constantly just like every other morning while I desperately went through my French notes and tried to understand how to use the subjunctive mood in case I need to use it during the writing part of the exam. He yelled some more. I contemplated how bad I would look if I murdered a child. Realised that jail probably wouldn't be much fun, and that murdering goes against my non violence stance. Turned up ipod and tried to go back to the subjunctive mood. Cried on the inside as I failed to comprehend a single word of my notes and I had written them myself.

   Got to school. Shivered. Swore at my subjunctive mood notes. Shivered some more. Contemplated taking up another language other than French. Realised that would be confusing as then I'd have the voices in my head speaking in three languages instead of two and I've been learning French since I was five years old and those thirteen years would be wasted if I didn't persevere, and perhaps I could survive without the subjunctive mood after all. I could just pretend it never existed. Ever. It never needed to. Bam. Done. I shivered again and contemplated murdering the obnoxious little girls that were hogging the heater and talking about things that were obviously more vitally important than the subjunctive mood, such as lipgloss. (Lipgloss is amazing. But it won't help you with your French. Believe me, I've tried.)

   Found out that I didn't even freaking have my French exam today. Cried, loudly, in front of a majority of the school. I'm lying. I was that close to becoming a blubbering mess or violently murdering everyone, until my logical side (ha!) kicked in and I realised that neither of these options would benefit me in any way whatsoever. Ran to try to get a ride back home with my dad before it was too late. It was too late. He'd already left. I nearly cried again. Shivered. Contemplated hitchhiking. Realised that even at 9:00am there was still potential for me to be raped and murdered. Began walking instead. Up a hill. In the cold. Shivered some more. Thought about what a terrible blog post it would be if I wrote it. Realised I still wanted to write a blog post about it anyway and try to make it entertaining. Please enjoy this lovely picture of a rainbow, because no one can possibly be sad while looking at a rainbow.

 I just realised there is no closing bracket either. My day could not get worse.

   I sure hope that was entertaining, because my whinge about my day is not over yet. Sorry.

   I staggered up the hill to my house. Nearly died. Thought I might just die happy though, surrounded by the beauty of nature. (I took a shortcut through the bush.) It was now sunny and I'd stopped freezing to death and I was merely dying of exhaustion. But with the sun up, I was surrounded by lovely pretty trees, and I stopped dying for long enough to appreciate the beauty of it. I then nearly collapsed with exhaustion. Joy.

   I made it home, eventually, explained the situation to my dad in between internal sobs, and went to the kitchen to remedy the situation as I knew best. Cooking.

   Let me clarify something. I can only sort-of cook. I can cook some things. I make the best non-packet risotto ever. I have an amazing ability to turn pathetic amounts of vegetables into something delicious. Which is probably impressive. I make good kumara soup. Usually. But today the root vegetables conspired against me.

Interruption from Vinesh: "Bloody roots and their hidden agendas." I accidentally read that as bloody roots are hidden agendas. Maybe I just have a filthy mind on terrible days. I'm now terrified of being sexually assaulted by a root vegetable, which makes even less sense than being terrified of windows.

   So, today I made my kumara soup as per usual. I don't think I edited the recipe at all. That is also a lie, because I don't even have a recipe, aside from an old Alison Holst recipe book because my mum worships her. It tastes ok. But with every spoonful of soup, I feel like I want to vomit. Something has gone wrong with my soup, and it's the last straw on a very very bad day.

   I think I may need to lie down and take a long look at a picture of a rainbow, please.

   Soup. I love you. You have supported me in many a difficult time in my life. You have warmed me through many winters. You have provided nourishment. You have helped me get my 5+ a day, because vegetables are so much better in soup. You have practically taught me how to cook. I'm sorry for eating you. Please stop hurting me, and I promise to stop eating you.

Love from your darling Bell-ez.