Soup May Be the Answer

In my head I am convinced that if I could just make soup, then everything will be okay. I’ve been planning to make this soup for several weeks. I like soup. I’m good at making soup. I miss my mother’s soup.

Somehow I think every day that this will be the day I make the soup, instead of lying blank-eyed like a vagrant on the couch, waiting for pills to fix my brain. And yet there are clothes littering the bedroom floor and limp vegetables disintegrating in the fridge. And I am soup-less.

My psych asked why the soup is so important. Because it means I’m normal, I tell her. If I can make soup, then I’m totally fine. People in control of their lives make soup. People who are not nuts make soup. Making soup is an achievement. I mention I’d been thinking I’d like to adopt another kitten. She thinks this is a good idea and probably better than making soup. I point out the very clear crazy cat lady analogy but she has cats of her own so we talk about that for a while.

As it stands I have neither a new kitten, nor soup. Maybe I’ll get another tattoo.


About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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One Response to Soup May Be the Answer

  1. Lauren says:

    Get someone to come over and make you soup. That works because in the end, you have soup and you get to eat soup. They could even bring you a kitten as well!

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