Why DO I want that nasty cake? Why does the combination of buttery fatty glop mixed with sugar tantalize my senses so? Does it take me back to some hazy memory of comfort during my childhood? A stolen moment alone with the mixer full of butter and sugar that my mom just creamed to make a pound cake? I would certainly prefer one of those to this crap that is sitting in my kitchen, beckoning me to come hither.
Why do we choose to do things that are self destructive? If I eat that cake, even one piece, I will be a pound heavier tomorrow. That sugar will course through my body and make new fat, seemingly overnight. If I do something else, such as eat an orange and go to the gym, I will feel great. I have a cold, though, and I don't FEEL like working out. I could read. I never get to read. I could play the bass. I rarely get to play the bass nowadays -- now that the rental property holds so much of my focus.
Am I really hungry? Perhaps. Maybe this isn't an emotional eating thing. Maybe I'm just a little bit hungry. I think I will go find a healthy snack. Yes, I will walk downstairs, give that cake the finger, and find a healthy snack.