I have forgotten the taste of strawberries
I feel like Frodo. No. I don’t have hairy feet. All that was removed by a laser. In Return of the King, he says to Sam, “I have forgotten the taste of strawberries.” I have forgotten taste. Of everything. Miss Ellen has been illin’. My spouse said, “what do you have, exactly?” I proceeded to tell him what I don’t have. I don’t have the flu, I don’t have the German measles, and I don’t have tonsilitis (which is easy, because I don’t have tonsils). Last weekend I hosted a magnificent event where, once again, I did not get to enjoy the food. But it did look magnificent. And I was not there to enjoy the food. It was CASH A Fashion Affair and it was a spectacular fashion show runway tribute with the clothes of June Carter Cash, along with Johnny Cash‘s favorite designer, Manuel. Oh, and I was the host. So you see, eating wasn’t on my list of things to do. After all big events I either get depressed because it’s over, or sick. If I’m lucky, I get both. This time, I got sick. So I have spent the week with every symptom you can think of. Fascinating really. I’ve had the chills, the aches, the pains, yes it went that quickly, the coughing AND the hacking, back to the ever-present cold of the body, and the inability to really taste anything. I’ve tried scorching hot tomato soup. You know what a sore throat doesn’t like? Acidic orange juice and acidic tomato soup. So I’ve had a can of soup a day. Sucked down a few saltines, and poured entire pots of coffee down my throat to even out the NyQuil. It’s a delicate balance. Truly, a rare few days when I have not thought of deliciousness on a consistent basis. Recently, during an email exchange, a friend asked if I was enjoying my feeling of “control.” It made me think. You see, many times I have this image of me running through a store just grabbing food and shoving it into my mouth. I do believe that is “out of control.” Oh, I’ve never done that, and never plan to do so. That is “in control.” It’s all an internal struggle. I think that’s where an addict’s rules come in. I will eat this in the car only until that stoplight. I will only eat the parts of the brownie that fall off when I cut the others into squares. I can only fluctuate in this weight range because I can hide it with duct tape. Oh, sorry, that’s another blog entirely. So, yes, I have forgotten the taste of strawberries and the smell of coffee. “I’m not dead yet,” to steal a quote from The Holy Grail, “I’m getting better.” And I shall. The real test will be, when I can taste and smell again, when the Ginsu knives are removed from where they have been lodged in my throat, will I be in control, or out of control? (Did you notice how I resisted the urge to use quotation marks on Control and reference Janet Jackson? Honestly, it was killing me.) Now I have Humphrey Bogart riffing in my head about strawberries from The Caine Mutiny. Perhaps I should end it here.