Hunger Games

I love food. It's one of my many weaknesses. I love how it tastes. How it feels. The sensation of swallowing. That evasive feeling of fullness. Perhaps if I could find wholeness elsewhere it would not hold such appeal.

Hot sauce makes me warm like a tneder love might. Sweet pudding balms my wounds as a tender hand. I've always loved food. I was born that way. As a child I saw ice cream and cake as a way to cope with a harsh world. We are born fat. If not literally. WIth the burdenn still.

For years I managed to keep my weight in check. It was never easy.

But lately it has been more of a struggle. Portion control is the real issue. I love food. How it tastes. How it feels. The satisfying sensation of swallowing nourishment.

It's a primal desire that's hard wired into our brains. There are skinny people and there are fat ones. And we don't get to choose wich we are. Not in that underlying sense. And it's hard to be of the latter and make do on less than we wnat. Letting those voids fester. They never disappear. We just learn to ignore them.

Eventually the hunger is too great.

If only there were magic clothes that would fit me no matter what. I don't think that I'd ever stop.