On food

The classical reaction to somebodies personal tradgedy seems to be to feed the person. In my kitchen there are still bowls and boxes, soup and cookies and whoever comes to visit insists on making some tea for me. Which I don't like too much since it is really hot and humid and I don't feel like drinking tea now. I assume all this is a try to compensate the overpowering feeling of helplessness everybody feels when they meet me. At the moment I don't seem to be a person but some delicate chore. People talk a lot about me but fail to talk to me. And it's not that I don't understand. It is hard. Everybody seems to feel pretty misreably around me. They pity me. Even though I think I keep up pretty good. Not a lot of crying and no public crying at all. I'm okay..
But I spend the last days thinking a lot of uncomfortable thoughts. Funnily a lot about food. About dishes I will never taste again, ordinary stuff, homeade food my mother made. Whoever will cook that for me again (if somebody will) it won't taste the same. Could it be that no two people cook the same food alike? It never tastes the same. I miss certain tastes already. That's kind of the first thing I miss. It doesn't seem right, though. A lot of the things I feel these days seem wrong. But then again: what is wrong? I try to tell myself that I feel what I feel and should deal with it. Try not to judge it all the time. Nothing really makes sense these days, and I should forget about looking for any...