hunger surfacing

So I'm in the zone. The hunger zone. This will pass, of this I am certain, but right now...right now I am hungry. Dinner is simmering. Chicken (organic) adobo, as I call it, basically a Mexican-influenced stewish dish with tomatoes and onions and bits of jalepeno...good to eat with tortillas (whole wheat) or my human pincers. I've got some rice on, and a salad. Balanced meal. I'm waiting. To eat. Until then, I am in the hunger zone.

I had a moment today wherein I felt different. I felt like I had a long neck. I was meeting a woman to talk about PR efforts for my employer and we met at a cafe in what is now called LoHi, or Lower Highlands, in NW Denver. We ordered chais, mine with rice milk, hers with skim. That was when I felt it...lighter. It registered in my neck and chin, of all places. I felt comfortable in my own skin, akin to invincible, and even though I had to keep from sheilding my eyes so that my line if vision wasn't straight to the baked goods case, I felt in control.

It was like driving slowly by a big picture window and seeing this happy family around the dinner table inside, their smiles lit by the golden glow of the arts-and-crafts pendant light hanging above their heads. Like a mind photograph that you take and file away to remember. And occasionally you do remember. It's still pretty clear, that image. That's what this feeling in the cafe was. I will remember it always. I will file it away for later and recall it when I'm about to order that third beer. Or take that second helping. It was a me with a bounce, me free from the bonds of self-flagellation-due-to-fatness.

Dinner is ready. Time to feed this hunger, slowly, masticatingly, consciously. Time to feed the body, not just eat.