My recent Facebook status, after yet another weekend (eating) in San Francisco:

Monday is Denial Day after eating like an insane person this weekend in the City of Fatty Deliciousness. Who had pork belly, cake, milkshakes (twice), bacon (thrice), eleventy-seven desserts, a meatball parm sub, and (i think) an entire family of eight? Me did me did!

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I keep fetishizing food. I just can’t stop. During this Regime of Sensibility, I allow my pent-up Desire for Deliciousness come out and run amok from time to time. Most of the time, I am in a grim lockstop, chewing small and healthy portions of pure boredom, interspersed with emitting low, self-pitying moans (drowned out by a whole lotta GaGa) during sweat-filled gym visits.

I never thought I had an “issue” with food. I just had a slow metabolism and an expert ability to snack and to avoid exercise. But now I’m beginning to wonder. The very concept of food is taking on mythic proportions, now that I occasionally let my appetite out of the crate and let it loose on the (hot) dog run.

Allie from Hyperbole and a Half provided the title and illustration of this post from an incredible story titled “God of Cake.” Please read it now so that you can get an inkling of what happens when I think of food these days.

I shonuf envy those of you for whom this is not a struggle.