So I’m having a bit of a rough evening (I wrote this about 2 days ago). My kitchen is disheveled. The meal I was cooking turned out like… well the words I would like to use to describe my black bean soup would not be very lady like. But the fact that my schedule for the day began to flounder that usually tends to mean that I am about to plummet. So my Marine told me that I had to write a blog post. And I could choose out of two topics what my blog post would be about. The two topics were 1. How I was struggling and could feel a potential beginning of an anxiety attack or 2. How I miss cheese. Obviously, I chose the latter.
You see, my vegan /gluten free/ sugar free diet is almost over. I have 5 more days. 5. The fact of the matter is I really don’t mind this diet. Like at all. (If you wanna know what my diet is and why I’m doing it, check it out here.) But. Holy cow. I. MISS. CHEESE. When these 5 days are past I will continue with a gluten and sugar free diet. But I will start to add meat back in and enjoy it 1-2 times a week. But I have no idea how I am not going to sit down and devour a block of cheese. Now, I have to be honest, I have had cheese 3 times this past month. But boy, was the cheating worth it. Let’s compare me cheating by eating cheese to if I had cheated on a test in grade school and the teacher caught me. This is how I would have reacted to the teacher:
Teacher: Ruth! What are you doing? This is so unlike you!!!
Ruth: I needed those answers. They are vital for the blood running through my veins.
Teacher: That makes no sense. You know that because of your decision there are consequences.
Ruth: BRING ON THE CONSQUENCES.
Teacher: Are you talking back to me?
Ruth: Your silly consequences are futile against my love of cheating. I don’t care what you have to say. I’d do it 500 more times
Teacher: Let’s go to the principal’s office
Ruth: Should I continue to cheat on my test as we walk there?
I need cheese in my life. In fact the cheese is a part of my life. My Momma can attest to the fact that when I was little I would claim to be a mouse and sit and nibble on cheese, how simply and wonderfully psychotic of me. My husband told me I remind him of Monterey Jack from Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers, hopefully it’s purely by love of cheese and not by my looks that reminds him of Monterey Jack. (Don’t know who that is? I would suggest you look him up) I love the cheese and the cheese loves me. Something doesn’t taste good? Throw some cheese on it. Need a snack. Cheese. Want something gooey? Obviously melted cheese. Toast? Cream Cheese. Dessert? Cheesecake. Halloween costume? Muenster Cheese. Bleeding? Cheese band-aid. Crying? Grilled Cheese sandwich. Country vacation? Cottage Cheese. Broken Foot? Cheese splint. It all just makes sense. Did I mention I grew up in Wisconsin? Our Christmas trees are made of cheese there. Cheese. It’s what’s for dinner.
I know this has nothing to do with depression and anxiety. Except for the fact that my evening feels a whole lot better. Oh. Add that to the list. Need an antidepressant? Cheese it up.