TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN AKA EVERYONE:

I have a lump of cheese in my stomach.

No. A rock.

I have a rock of cheese in my stomach, an amalgamation of mozzarella and ricotta cheese, to be specific. It is unmoving and hard, firm and defiant. And frankly, I need it to go away ASAP.

You might ask, “How did it get there, Laura? Aren’t you eating a vegan diet?”

Funny you should ask.

I became a vegan on December 21stish, 2006, in the year of our Lord Jesus Christ. Since that time, I’ve “caved in” and ate non-vegan food several times, mostly desserts. (See also, the previous post.) And while these desserts contained butter or milkfat or eggs, they were not comprised solely of these ingredients. Since deciding to give up animal products, I hadn’t bitten into a hunk of cheese or chugged down a glass of whole milk. And while I felt mostly alright after eating the occasional non-vegan dessert, there were a few times where I felt a bit…unsettled afterwards. (See also: strawberry cheesecake) But nothing SERIOUS. Until now.

On Saturday night, my vegetarian boss casually mentioned that there was leftover lasagna and stuffed shells in the refrigerator and hey, if you’re into it, you could totally have some for dinner.

Hmmm.

Immediately I said to myself, “SELF. That is dairy.”

And then myself came to its senses and said, “Dang girl. You love Italian food so much and you’ve been SO GOOD about not eating dairy, hell it’s been four months, you DESERVE IT.”

And then myself made myself a plate of said food.

Wait. What?

Anyway, I felt a little bit nauseated afterward and had a brief thought of, “I probably shouldn’t have done that…” But the Suze Orman show was on TV so I became immediately distracted by Roth IRAs. And then I went home and went to bed.

I woke up Sunday morning and went to church. My stomach was rumbling a bit and I figured I needed some breakfast. So after I praised the risen Lord Jesus Christ and punched a few snobby elderly churchgoers in the face, I went home and made myself a smoothie. With fruit. And orange juice. Mmmm acidic! We can all guess what happened next.

Fast forward to my parents’ house for Easter dinner later in the afternoon. Best friend Alayna sits with my family, laughing, talking, passing delicious food around the table. Why is Alayna sitting there when Laura is nowhere to be seen? Laura, oh Laura, why are you not celebrating the risen Lord by feasting on string beans and drinking Chardonnay?

Because Laura is laying on the couch, popping Pepto Bismol, alternately dozing off and moaning in agony.

I did not have a single thing to eat on Easter Sunday except that damn smoothie and a few saltines. Today, I had the saltines and a few vegetables. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was actually getting sick, if it was like a routine stomach virus that kept me chained to the toilet, hugging it for dear life, wondering why I can’t stop vomiting, THERE’S NOTHING LEFT IN ME, PLEASE NO MORE GAGGING.

But that is not the case here. Sadly, I wish it were. The problem here is: THE ROCK OF CHEESE IS STILL THERE.

I know this is too much information, much more than you needed to ever know about me, but you guys?

I CAN’T PASS THE CHEESE.

It won’t come out! Up or down, it won’t come out! It’s stuck in my stomach or an intestine or my spleen or something and it is absolutely agonizing. HOW DO I MAKE IT COME OUT!? I can’t make myself throw up, I was never one of those girls. Do I have to drink some laxative tea or something? I don’t want to because it gives me terrible cramps but I feel like maybe I should? It’s been 48 hours, how much longer can this go on!? (Hi all potential boyfriends reading my website! Want to go out on a date? I am sexy and talking about my bowels! Call me!)

Someone offered up the helpful suggestion that it could just be a huge gas bubble hanging out in my stomach but I really truly believe it’s the cheese. It HAS TO BE. It hurts so incredibly badly. It’s a tightly woven knot of saturated fat and animal hormones just sitting like a tub of lard in my stomach. Well actually, not LIKE a tub of lard it just IS a tub of lard sitting in my stomach. And oh God, it was so delicious on the way down, it really really was. And now, I regret each delicious morsel, each forkful dripping with tomato sauce and gooey, stringy mucous-causing animal protein.

Dear Risen Lord Baby Jesus Christ Who Died On A Cross, I AM SO SO SORRY FOR SINNING AND STUFF BUT MOSTLY I AM SORRY FOR EATING THE CHEESE. Amen, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.