Argument with a Stomach

I'm still kind of new to the idea of eating as a habit. But my stomach is starting to remind me. Normally, I eat once a day. Twice if I'm really on the go. But it seems like lately I'm eating all the time. And now my stomach is making these squeaky noises and I've only been awake for about and half hour. Usually I make it for at least four hours before I start to think about food.

Is this my body's retaliation against my brain's forgetfulness? Against my own laziness? Or is it that my brain has finally realized that 112 pounds would only be an appropriate weight if I were five inches shorter?

But my brain is powerful. Because I like being thin. I like being able to wear whatever I want, and not have to worry about losing some before beach season begins. I like that my clothing feels loose on me, even though it's not designed to be, and wasn't when I bought it.

A dumb as it sounds, being thin is the only part of me that most people would consider "normal". It's the only place where I conform to what society wants and expects. Granted, I'm still no match for the Calista Flockharts of the world, but I could give Sarah Jessica Parker a run for her money.

And the irony is, I LOVE food. And not just, oh I like to eat burritos kind of love. I dream about duck breast and prime rib and lobster bisque and risotto and chocolate truffles and wine and goat cheese. I appreciate food as a form of art that is always new and wondrous. Perhaps that is where I have run into my obstacle. Because I have come to feel that eating should not be something I do merely to stay alive. I should be something I do because I genuinely appreciate the flavors and textures of each dish. And leftovers fall short of the mark of excellence. So I'd rather skip it.

But my stomach says otherwise.