Today I am somewhat improved, though I remain fatigued. Neighbor Rebecca visited this morning with gifts of tea, honey, bananas, french bread and apple sauce -- the last of which was new to me, and wholly delightful, having a mealy, chunky consistency similar to oyzl, only without the grease.

According to the label on its container, apple sauce has no nutritional value. When I asked Rebecca why she eats it, she informed me that it is a "comfort food" she consumes when ill, because it "takes me back to memories of childhood", when she was cared for by her parents. Other foods on this list are chicken soup, "strawberry milk shakes" (a form of sweetened, icy, agitated cow milk, with artificial flavoring of the red fruit I have earlier described) and ginger ale (spicy carbonated beverage, tan in color).

As demonstrated in the report I submitted to the Department last November, humans experience nostalgic thoughts and impulses an average of sixty times per day. It is the habit of most humans I have encountered to greet these occurrences openly, and to court their appearance through formal engagement in activities designed to provoke sense or muscle memory, such as listening to music, viewing sports games, and reading. Oftentimes a single memory will be teased out and labored over to the point of distraction, leading to workplace inefficiency, automobile accidents, and in the most dire cases, loss of life.

Eating is no exception to this trend. Humans are often willing to consume vast quantities of nutritionally useless food -- much of it chemically engineered to have low or no caloric value -- in order to induce visions of the past. The reflex to do so is greatly magnified when they are emotionally or physically compromised by social problems, injury or illness.

Why do the humans do this? What functional benefit can be derived by these ceaseless and often dangerous visitations to the past? We do not yet know.

Unfortunately, Rebecca did not dwell long on the function of nostalgia today. Instead, she explained to me that applesauce is part of a medically recommended cure for extreme evacuation, what the humans term "diarrhea" or, colloquially, "the runs". She called this cure the "BRAT diet", wherein an afflicted human will consume nothing but clear liquids, bananas, rice, apple sauce, and toast until the bowels are bound and become solid. This prevents dehydration from excess loss of fluid.

Yet again, I find that human beings are remarkably unashamed to discuss the size, shape, and consistency of their bowels with other humans, even near strangers. However, a specific yet difficult to ascertain set of rules dictates the situations in which such public ruminations and disclosures are deemed appropriate. It is inappropriate, for example, to discuss bowels at a dinner table with formal place settings. However, such discussions are permissible when drinking coffee in a "living room" or "den" where only coasters, spoons, and saucers are provided by the host. (See also: Year One, Month Six, Date 3.)

The BRAT diet appearing scientifically sound, I allowed Rebecca to prepare me a meal. She expressed dismay at my lack of a "toaster" with which to brown the bread, but she was able to warm the loaf in the oven, an arrangement I found to my liking.

Rebecca counseled a full day of rest and inactivity, and promised to return later in the evening, after work, with a bowl of rice.

It is curious that she would administer such advice and care to another human, particularly when she is not of a caregiving clan. But I find this is another odd quirk with humans -- that they freely enter into the sharing of wisdom and advice without training or credentials.

Odder yet is the fact that I took her advice. I have spent the remainder of my day watching American television, sleeping, and eating this applesauce, which is the best and most precious thing I have yet discovered on Earth. How could we let such a thing slip away?