The Beginning of a Long Involved Journal - Entry #1
There's too much to say, and words don't come easy;
but I'll try only because it keeps gnawing away, these
thoughts about how living in New York City is a lot like
trying to endure chemotherapy.
When I first moved here, however temporary I thought it would be,
it was a challenge to all my sense. My sense of smell--accosted by everything from the air to the "ground," yes, especially "the ground" because there is so little of it. Mostly there's cement, and it has no drain-off so you can just imagine what puddles there, especially in the subway system as well as in alleys. I could also smell the people crammed next to me and all the ethnic foodstuff eaten recently, like: curry, garlic, tofu, feta cheese, sesame noodles, and various spiced meats that I have yet to identify.This seques into my sense of taste because these two senses, smell and taste, are so intricately entwined. New York City and its environs are the crossroads of the world and its foods. After awhile, with experimentation and much daring, I have begun to learn how to identify just what differentiates each ethnicity and/or cultural delicacy. I'm still working on it, and loving every minute of it for the most part. Back home in New Hampshire, I think some of my friends now consider me spoiled because of my newly developed tastes; but I think of myself as simply enlightened. I do prefer the subtle and not subtle differences of Thai to Cantonese, New York Pizza to chain restaurant cuisine, Jamaican to Haitian, Dominican to Cuban, and Mexican to Argentinean.
But all of this goes for naught once I began chemotherapy. Slowly my sense of taste acquired a metallic quality. I have no idea why, but it's there and it eventually came to deaden all but the very sour and very sweet taste buds. That led to an all out meltdown as far as my perferred dietary habits. Nothing is filling because nothing satisfies hunger unless it is sour pickles, cranberry juice, Pom juice, or else from the forbidden land of outrageous sweets. Yum!! And I certainly have partaken liberally. Calories abound there, and I will not deny that some savory satisfaction can be found in this food group. But the weight gain follows rapidly, a vicious circle of the sour awakening the taste buds for the sweet which soothes them. I gained 10 pounds. My sense of smell is also blunted, in fact, it began to become quite eccentric in its behavior. The smell of urine is just as disgusting as ever; in fact, since it is the ony smell I often can distinguish now, it appears in many more places than I once realized. All other smells are either amorphous or downright among the disappeared. I used to be allergic to perfume. But now I am not. Either people have ceased wearing it, or my nose no longer distinguishes such concoctions. What's more, my nose has acquired the habit of either continually "running," or else bleeding. Hard to smell anything from behind a tissue.
My next installment will proceed on to another sense--hearing.
but I'll try only because it keeps gnawing away, these
thoughts about how living in New York City is a lot like
trying to endure chemotherapy.
When I first moved here, however temporary I thought it would be,
it was a challenge to all my sense. My sense of smell--accosted by everything from the air to the "ground," yes, especially "the ground" because there is so little of it. Mostly there's cement, and it has no drain-off so you can just imagine what puddles there, especially in the subway system as well as in alleys. I could also smell the people crammed next to me and all the ethnic foodstuff eaten recently, like: curry, garlic, tofu, feta cheese, sesame noodles, and various spiced meats that I have yet to identify.This seques into my sense of taste because these two senses, smell and taste, are so intricately entwined. New York City and its environs are the crossroads of the world and its foods. After awhile, with experimentation and much daring, I have begun to learn how to identify just what differentiates each ethnicity and/or cultural delicacy. I'm still working on it, and loving every minute of it for the most part. Back home in New Hampshire, I think some of my friends now consider me spoiled because of my newly developed tastes; but I think of myself as simply enlightened. I do prefer the subtle and not subtle differences of Thai to Cantonese, New York Pizza to chain restaurant cuisine, Jamaican to Haitian, Dominican to Cuban, and Mexican to Argentinean.
But all of this goes for naught once I began chemotherapy. Slowly my sense of taste acquired a metallic quality. I have no idea why, but it's there and it eventually came to deaden all but the very sour and very sweet taste buds. That led to an all out meltdown as far as my perferred dietary habits. Nothing is filling because nothing satisfies hunger unless it is sour pickles, cranberry juice, Pom juice, or else from the forbidden land of outrageous sweets. Yum!! And I certainly have partaken liberally. Calories abound there, and I will not deny that some savory satisfaction can be found in this food group. But the weight gain follows rapidly, a vicious circle of the sour awakening the taste buds for the sweet which soothes them. I gained 10 pounds. My sense of smell is also blunted, in fact, it began to become quite eccentric in its behavior. The smell of urine is just as disgusting as ever; in fact, since it is the ony smell I often can distinguish now, it appears in many more places than I once realized. All other smells are either amorphous or downright among the disappeared. I used to be allergic to perfume. But now I am not. Either people have ceased wearing it, or my nose no longer distinguishes such concoctions. What's more, my nose has acquired the habit of either continually "running," or else bleeding. Hard to smell anything from behind a tissue.
My next installment will proceed on to another sense--hearing.
posted by AYankee @ 3:28 PM
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