I sat at the stop sign at Love Street and Coal. Just a block away I got into my car after eating lunch. I had been good having just a sandwich, a glass of water and a handful of wheat thins crackers. I felt satisfied, not hungry and ready to go back to work. I was thanking Byetta for my lack of appetite. In fact, I remember thinking that I could have easily skipped lunch.

But between my house and Love Street the two sides of my brain prepared for battle. Going straight on Coal meant going back to work. It meant skipping the gas station or the drug store where I would break the $20 bill in my wallet for a cheap thrill. Going straight meant I had will power, that I didn't need chocolate, that I could make it through the afternoon at my desk without that rush.

Whatareyoudoing? I screamed at myself as I turned right on Love. I wasn't even hungry and I didn't have the overwhelming urge for sweets that normally drives me to destruction. As I pulled onto the parking lot of the drug store I kept telling myself that I could turn around and just go back to work, that this could be a silly story I recount to myself later, that I could just leave and pat myself on the back for having such incredible will power.

But there I was staring at the Hostess cupcakes trying to decide on original or golden. I grabbed the original and wondered if the clerk at the one-hour photo desk was giving me the evil eye because she knows I have diabetes.

And then there was the candy aisle. It seems that every time I stand in the enormous candy aisle of this store a clerk comes waltzing by wondering if I'm "Finding everything OK?". "Yes, thank you," I always reply with a smile.

Finding everything is not the problem; choosing is.