Food. Food. Fooooood.

I am currently in hour two of a 15-hour fast.
It is not for religious purpose.
It is not because I just read about the dangers of fasting in this month's Self magazine and want to try one "to see for myself."
It's for the blood work that I have to get tomorrow.

I know this perpetually-on-a-diet body of mine could probably survive longer than a camel in the desert on the food/fat stored within it - like last week's half gallon of chocolate marshmallow ice cream for example - but knowing I cannot eat anything until after 8 a.m. tomorrow is making me so hungry I want to eat my own hand.

I realized I follow way too many food bloggers and Twitterers because every five seconds I'm seeing something that's making my belly growl.
Never mind that I've also been cruising their pages to suffice my hunger.
{Or entice, in textbook masochist fashion, I can't decide.}
But mostly to live vicariously through this 15 hour span that I will hopefully sleep through much of.

This makes me realize that I put way too much emphasis on food in my life.
I live my life around it.
{Hell, part of my job is writing about it!}
I'm always hungry.
{A friend is convinced I have a tapeworm, I chalk it up to iron deficiency or possibly, gulp, the diabetes that runs in my family.}

I realized it's a relationship I really have to end.
I am too obsessed with it.

After the Chocolate Marshmallow Ice Cream Incident, I made a firm pact with myself to really, really strive to eat healthier.
To finally take it seriously.
Maybe fasting is just what the doctor ordered.
{Pun totally intended, naturally.}