The Icing from the Cake

I went to the gym last night after work. Then I got home, and ate a plateful of chicken fingers, tater tots and ranch dressing, and creamed corn. After that oh-so-healthy dinner, I went to the freezer looking for ice cream. But I couldn't find any. So I went to the pantry and found some Nilla Wafers. One of my favorite treats is Nilla Wafers dipped in yogurt. But I couldn't find yogurt. So I went in search of icing. Yes, cake icing. I found an old, opened tub of Whipped Vanilla in the cupboard, but it had hardened, and I was too lazy to put in the microwave to soften it up. (Plus - and this is unreasonable - I was afraid of the icing having gone bad and making me sick...) Then I found Coconut-Pecan icing hiding in the back. Ah, the kind of icing normally reserved for German Chocolate cakes. Yum. I yanked it from the cabinet, grabbed my Nilla Wafers and plopped myself right down in front of American Idol.

Even as I scooped the icing to my mouth, I realized I was undoing all of the hard work I'd just done at the gym. Then I told myself that the reason I do all of that hard work is so that I can do silly shit like this and not feel guilty. So I continued shoveling icing 'n' Nilla Wafers into my mouth and got lost in all of the horrible auditions on American Idol, indulging in two guilty pleasures at the same time. When I reached my sweetness quota, I put away the icing and the cookies, proud of myself for not having overindulged. Then my mom made popcorn. It smelled so good...I had to fight with myself to not get up and head to the microwave. But I did eat her kernels (I love the kernels...). At that point, I realized that I completely lack control. I've never been one of those people who can deny themselves. I just lack the capacity to say "No. I don't need it." Anorexics and bulimics amaze me. There's some serious control in that. And I don't even have the fucked up sense of control it takes to have an eating disorder. I think the problem is that you either have to deny yourself everything (and I'd be horrible at that, because I love food), or taste it once going down and then once coming up. And it just never tastes the same the second time. So I can't do that, either. What usually ends up happening is as follows:
My inner fatty says: Gee, I'd really like a Milky Way Midnight right now.
And my inner personal trainer says: No, Laurie, you don't need that. You're not even hungry. Maybe you should just eat a small Hershey's kiss instead. You don't need that candy bar; you don't even really want it, you don't nee-Oh, okay. Why not?
And I happily devour it, making a deal with myself that I will go to the gym in the morning. Which I also fail to do.

All this talking about food, now I'm hungry.