I have cried about food so many times in the last week. This weekend was particularly fraught with moments. On Saturday I ate brunch with my sponsor in the West Village and met C at Old Devil Moon afterward, where he was eating our typical fisherman's breakfast. I had just eaten less than three hours prior. I was not hungry. However, sitting in a restaurant, not eating and watching C's biscuit ritual proved to be more than I could handle calmly. Each spoonful of peach preserves that he spread across the biscuit bothered me more. The craving and desire for that food was so intense that I started to shake. I actually had to get up and walk out of the restaurant. I felt insane. It was a fucking biscuit with peach preserves. So I sat outside and was about to make some OA calls so I could share my insanity, but then the shop called my phone and I had to bring it in to C. I went back out and looked at my meeting list and planned out which ones I would go to this week. That was enough. I didn't go to the bakery across the street, but mind you I was well aware it was there.