Saturday, September 30, 2006
I'm lactose intolerant. Looking back over my life I now realize I've been this way since my teens. This explains why after downing a satisfying, cold, tall glass of milk I end up bent in half with sharp, knife-like pain. I love milk, always have. It was a staple of my diet until a few years ago when I just couldn't handle the pain anymore.
And I miss it.
I look longingly at cookies and milk, ice cream, and cheese topped pizzas. If I do indulge, I take a Lactaid pill hoping it will be enough to keep the inevitable pain away. Sometimes it helps; most times it just doesn't.
I have a friend who admits to this same malady, but he continues to eat and drink dairy. He puts up with the pain, even at the expense of others. It makes me wonder. Either the pain isn't bad enough to make him stop or he has a higher threshold for pain than I do.
My fridge is stocked with dairy - after all I have a growing family to feed. It's always in my sight and on my mind, but I need to steer clear or I'll be doubled over in pain once again.
We all seem to do things that are harmful to us. I don't know why that is. I know that as a teacher I am baffled at students who choose "play" time over homework, even to their detriment. The consequence of a poor grade just doesn't seem to phase them. I can't get inside their heads and hearts and get them to take their work seriously. I feel like saying, "Those who don't take their studies seriously, do so at their peril!" but until something is bad enough, they will continue doing what they do.
I suspect that's true of all of us. We do what we shouldn't, and don't do what we should. What's up with that?