Touchy

Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to view and read chapter one, it's honestly a dream. It means so much to me and this may start off slow, but I hope you continue to enjoy it nonetheless as there are many more to come. 

When I rise from my slumber Tuesday morning, I'm made more aware of my potentially delusional state of mind as I recall my dream about the whispering wind. The predominantly male voice in the dream repeated the words 'I'll say' I don't know how many times. They were the words I thought I heard yesterday afternoon. Now when I say them however, they don't seem real. Everything feels like fantasy, that or I can't tell what is real. I'm not crazy, I know I'm not. It was just a figment of my imagination – a figment that wanted to be known for a bit longer than just one instance, that's all. Nothing happened that wasn't in my head. With these thoughts I shrug off the dream and decide to get ready for school instead.

Productivity is a great mechanism for setting my thoughts at bay, particularly when I'm baking, which I'm currently doing. Food or 'food technology' if you want the official name of the class, is one of my favourites, if not my favourite subject and lesson at school. There's just something about baking that calms me, it settles my nerves and takes away any of the stress and anger I'm feeling. And even if I am feeling agitated or frustrated, I can channel those emotions into my cooking. Some of my best cakes have even been constructed whilst I was feeling very down or energetic; moods help with creations at times. In all fairness though, whatever mood I'm in, cooking is something I thoroughly enjoy. If I'm down, it brings me up. If I'm happy, I continue to remain that way. Nothing matters to me when I'm in the kitchen.

The clear, plastic bowl before me holds the butter and sugar I'm about to cream together with an electric whisker. Today's lesson we were allowed to make what we wanted to in preparation for our big end of course project, so I chose cake as I love making and eating it. Who doesn't? Today, I'm only doing one tier, but for my final piece I'll be making three or four depending on timing.

I start the hand mixer, keeping it on till the butter and sugar are creamed together into a smooth enough mixture. Then I add in some vanilla extract and combine in the dry ingredients of flour and baking powder too. After I've folded them, I add the eggs and mix well until everything is up to my satisfaction before adding the juice of one lemon and some of the zest, grated. Lemon cake is absolutely heavenly to me; I simply can't get enough of it and it's slightly healthier than other types. Lemons are citrus fruits and fruit is good for you.

When the lemon's added, I pour the mixture into a round tin and place it into the heated oven. The mess I've made on the workbench suddenly stares at me menacingly. Flour litters the wooden top so that the light brown colour of the wood is barely even visible under the illuminating white sheet of powder that sits comfortably on top. Sighing, I move over to the sink for the cloth and start to mop up my chaos. It doesn't matter how many times I bake, I always manage to make a mess and half of the time it appears from nowhere. Honestly, I don't know how it happens.

Eventually, the tabletop is spotless – even more so than when I entered the room at eleven – and I can finally start on the chocolate drizzle and dipping sauce for the top of the cake. The only problem with the chocolate is that it's still in solid form and I need it as a liquid which means boiling hot water over a bowl of the chocolate. Even a normal person has to be careful of not scolding themselves, but I have to be extra delicate with my hands. My eczema isn't half as bad on my palms and fingers today as it can be at times, but it's still definitely a hazard.

Ever so carefully, I start to melt the chocolate in the bowl above the scorching hot water. To make matters easier, yet awkward for myself, I distance my body cautiously from the cooker. This way I can narrow the likeliness of getting burned, though I do have my arm outstretched to stir the spoon in the bowl which isn't the cleverest of moves. It probably goes against health and safety too. Thankfully all of my teachers know about my condition as it's on my record on the school system so none of them think me too weird if I just randomly have to put cream on my hands, though I feel leant as far away from the hob with an arched back isn't one they're used to seeing. Although saying that, Mr Harvard hasn't spoken to me, let alone mentioned my posture at all. I guess that's one thing I like about him though, he doesn't judge people.