I just tried a piece of a Toblerone bar that I bought at least a month ago during one of those endless trips to the pharmacy for meds. Man, that is good milk chocolate. I do not like milk chocolate, but this bar is great, even without the nougat stuff in it. Someone told me that the KitKat bars that are made in England are better than the ones made here, so I tried some when I was there.
Really? Not so great, and the same thing for all of the milk bars. And it is not as though I am fond of KitKats here, by the way. All I really like is the wafer cookie part inside. I cut/break/bite the chocolate off and toss/spit the chocolate parts away. Same thing for Snickers bars. Get rid of the chocolate, even the dark chocolate, and just give me the nougat. Please.
The only reason this holds any energy for me is that I love chocolate, but eat mostly the 90% cocoa kind. Having diabetes will do that for you. You like, even love as in Godiva's white chocolate raspberry starfish, a nice piece of candy once in a while and you cannot have any because of your stupid blood sugar crap...errrr...cauliflower, sorry.
More, I only succumb to the chocolate when I am feeling really terrible, which I am not today because I am experiencing much less pain than usual and the house smells divine from the slow-cooker cooking of a nice pot roast (this is the beef part) with parsnips, and other vegetables, too, but it is all about the parsnips.
All of that should be making me happy-toes-dancing in the streets, but when I saw that bar in the cabinet next to the seasonings, I had to have a taste. So, I did. It was great. Then I had another section and before you know it, I had eaten four of the nine sections in the box. Well, I let them melt in my mouth and then chewed the nougat bits.
And, again, for the second time today, I thought...what the cauliflower?
Honestly, I think that I am losing it.
Between the whole dreaming thing, which by the way is insane, I have to look forward to one of my more challenging clients at work on Wednesday. She never does her part of the work, e-mails me with ridiculous demands that I have to decline and endlessly explain why I cannot, it is impossible to, comply. She misses sessions, shows up late and wants me to stay late to work with her. She has had sufficient opportunities to do what she needs to do and I really should tell her that we are finished working together, but I cannot. She has run out of resources that will help her and despite the fact that she will eventually do something so outrageous that we will not be able to allow her to return, at this time I simply cannot stop giving her appointments. I always, during our sessions, see a glimpse of something reasonable in her, some aspect of who she is, or might have been at one time, that keeps me working with her. So, then. Wednesday.
Back to the dreams, I woke this morning remembering eight dreams, completely, not just fragments, but the whole darn things. That is entirely too much information to take into the day with you. Worse is that the final dream, the one just before I woke up was very sexy. Not in the lots of sex department, but in the tender, someone cares about you in a significant way realm.
There is no violence in those kinds of dreams and they never wake me crying or yelling or screaming (although a little post-coital-dream-screaming might be nice) or anything sad like that, but I think that those dreams in which someone is nice to me might be the saddest of all dreams. The reality of waking is too great a contrast. The sense of loss and longing, well, I do not actually cry about this, but I do get all moist in the eyes for a moment or two or twenty.
So, maybe that is where the desperation for that forgotten chocolate bar was born.
Not everyone gets to find happily-ever-after. We just do not. What we do get is the chance to make the best of what we actually do have and I try to do that. Just, sometimes.
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