Chocolate Chip Cookies

I have a great, huge, hideous Fear that lives in my head. The Fear of Getting Fat. It pokes its nasty fingers at me whenever I get a longing for Marble Slab ice cream and it either succeeds in keeping me to my diet or else makes me feel terribly guilty when I don't listen to its screechy, whiney voice. Somedays I wish this Fear would just leave me alone forever; some days I wish it would yell louder. I want to have a Jennifer Anniston-flat stomach... but I'd rather not exercise the self discipline for it. (Besides, obviously her stomach wasn't enough to keep one of People's Sexiest People - Brad Pitt - around for her. So why should it work for me?) Instead, I live in the shadow that the Fear of Getting Fat casts on my existence.
And today I made chocolate chip cookies. I plan on taking some of them to work, and some of them are for my boy. In this way I hope to get them out of my house before I eat any (more) of them. But oh... the smell of brown sugar and butter and chocolate all mixed together... Dear God, why did you make chocolate chip cookies taste so good? And why did you make it so perversely difficult for me to self-discipline myself to actually get up off my fat butt, put on my nikes, and go running? I always enjoy it while I'm out there, so why don't I do it more often?
And why do fitness magazines always make it seem so easy to schedule an hour workout which includes a balance of cardio, strength training, and stretches, into a normal person's life?
These are just a few questions I have.