This morning, I poured out the last glassful of tomato juice. And the subsequent suspended thought came to mind: What makes my beloved tomato red? Lycopene. I wonder, in a silly un-researched random way, whether lycopene is addictive?
I cut two tomatoes to accompany my lunch of Hainanese Chicken Rice today. I made a batch of the chicken and rice a few days ago. Will last me a few meals, even if not as long as I would have liked it to last – there is a constant and fierce battle raging between my meagre budget and my foodie addiction, and the latter usually wins. Which is why I am in debt. Well, no, I am not a bon vivant indulging in expensive gastronomic delights, rather, I just cannot afford to eat as decently as is necessary for my rather peculiar needs. Anyhow, here is lunch today. Lycopene fix. Oh, the sharp acidic taste of tomato is easily softened by a dash of mayonnaise. Here, I have been most liberal with my ‘dash’ – tomato causes pain, but I am still addicted!
It is a silly sensory day. My body hates rainy wet days. And so does Lucy – she is one fastidiously clean doggy, and her tactile senses are extremely keen. I read somewhere that greyhound paw pads are more delicate than those of other dogs. Well, perhaps that explains why she hates wet, muddy surfaces and won’t walk in tall grass. Anyhow, we were lucky to squeeze in a 30 minute walk in between outpours. Damp smells sick – not a very eloquent description, but that was the first association that came to mind. Nausea. Sick smelling. Yuck.
My brain feels soggy and heavy. I am unable to smell the lighter olfactory notes because of the heavy moisture in the air. I am left with weight, ‘clumpy’ wafts from the clammy rotting wooden floorboards, the smell of the road outside soaked in dirty water and it feels like a ponderous dense nebulous mass is wrapped around my head. The only pleasant and comforting smell right now is Lucy. Seriously.
Inside a swirl of painful neuropathy, swollen shoulder joint and TMJ inflammation, I am random-thought-stimming…
Another nagging sensory irritation today is the new dishwashing liquid. Cheap. But not good. It cleans well. It was super cheap. But the smell is awful, and awful strong too. It reminds me of the horrible and probably also very cheap toilet cleaner used in public toilets. And the smell lingers for ages on my hands. Yet another USA brand, but made in China. It seems to me that everything from and in the USA nowadays is made in China. The western world has created a monster, and who is to blame? Well, the smell is monstrously horrible. I bought two bottles for the price of one. What am I to do? Use it, of course. Can I afford to respect my overwrought senses above the reality of poverty? Nope. Sorry baby.
Which leads me to more random thought stimming. Can the poor afford to suffer from sensory acuity issues? Can the poor afford to save money? Can the poor afford to respect themselves? I am teetering on the edge. My health is suffering too, though not as severely immediately as my senses. But I am now having to treat my senses the way my insensitive mother and older siblings have treated them all my growing years in their company – with a callous disrespect. The difference is this: I absolutely have to do this because I cannot afford otherwise. I am trading one with another. In order to do what I have always wanted to do, in order to recognise all I need to recognise and respect, I have to subject certain parts of self at the altar of poverty. So here goes at least a month of gagging at the kitchen sink while washing dishes. Remember to rinse well, Bunny!