My relationship to Cheese is complicated. While eating cheese will not kill me, it will leave me with some killer stomach pain. I can eat some cheese, but not all.
I am, mostly, intolerant to Cheese. Cheese doesn’t do anything for me. Cheese does not understand the concept of reciprocity, of responsibility, of giving back. Cheese doesn’t feel guilt, so the actions never change, it never decides to change its actions and so the cycle is always the same. I don’t understand cheese. Sometimes it can be sweet, but most times it is on tenuous ground.
What’s the worst about it, is that I always expect better of it, I always expect it to change, to be better, because I know it can. I know cheese can be yummy and wonderful, and so when it’s not, it’s even more disappointing to me. Cheese never gives something back to me, even when I have bent myself backwards for it. I just wonder if cheese felt some responsibility it would change, because it wouldn’t want to feel guilt again or disappointment. Is that how responsibility works? It’s disappointing because it has not attained it’s potential, but also because here I am having believed in it, and having failed again. It teaches me not to count on it, to have tenuous belief to avoid feeling a constant sense of disappointment and loss for the relationship I will never have with cheese. And so to a degree I resent the cheese. I resent it for proving me wrong, but for also constantly disappointing me and making me feel like a fool. I resent it for being completely unable to mature but also just be a good relationship with me. That’s all I want, a good relationship with cheese, not one that’s always good (totally unrealistic), but one where we have more good days than bad. Where I can say that cheese is my friend.
Some say I should just accept my current status with cheese. It’ll be what it will be and not to expect anything more. I don’t know if that’s the type of person I am. I expect cheese to be better, to know they can change, evolve, and be better. But maybe that’s unrealistic, and maybe that’s a little bit of who I am.
I can’t change my life growing up with cheese, all the experiments, the disappointments, the hurt, and the anger. Because I am hurt by cheese. If the cheese cared how I felt, it would change, and it never does. It is cheese and always will be just cheese.
I will always have a tenuous relationship with cheese. The question is what do I do about it? Do I change it or accept it?