On Food

Yesterday, the only thing that got me through the last few hours of work was the thought of the chili cheese dog I'd make myself upon getting home. I get home at roughly ten pm, so I know I have no business eating anything that late, but I just couldn't resist the chili dog's siren song. I got home, took a shower, made the dog, heated up some potato wedges and fully expected to almost die from extreme culinary orgasms. That didn't happen. Not even close. Don't get me wrong, the dog was good, the taste just didn't explode on my tongue like I was expecting it to. Since there was absolutely nothing wrong with the dog (I made the chili myself, so it definitely wasn't the chili's taste at fault), the difference has to be in me. Have I finally turned the corner in my relationship with food? Has it lost it's entertainment value for me? Has my mind finally figured out that food is sustenance and nothing more? If it has, then...I won't be able to contain my joy. The biggest obstacle for me on the road to weight loss has been my obsessive love of food. It has been my friend, my lover, my enemy, my everything and now I'm ready for it to be nothing more than the fuel my body needs to keep going.