Empty

The cupboards, the fridge and me. All empty.

The link between emotion and appetite is of a curious nature. Whilst some cannot contemplate sustenance in times of turmoil or ecstasy, for others these extremes stimulate their tastebuds and they crave their individual version of comfort food.

In a current state of uncertainty, hurt and confusion I find that I have rather lost my interest in eating, surviving on a peculiar diet of cherries, olives, tomato juice, almonds, wine and cigarettes (with the occasional salad thrown in for pure survival). I feel empty, devoid of substance from head to heart.

I have become an observer, rather than a partaker, a true reveler in food porn. The odd spot of cooking for family and friends, digesting my fellow blogers words, drinking in their recipes and pictures and forging plans for the occasional piece of work. I have not lost my passion for food, just my relish for eating, for stimulating my tastebuds as my senses have become subsumed with painful issues.

I can only hope that these issues are soon resolved, albeit for better or worse, that some peace is found, and with it my appetite. That I will, once again, be joyfully full. From heart to stomach.