As he handed me the bottle of pills, the doctor said, “You may not use alcohol while you are taking these.” “How long will that be?” I inquired. “Two to three weeks,” he said.

No alcohol for two to three weeks? Ye gads!

The pills never work for me. Don’t know why but that’s how it is. But the doctor says to take them so I do. I look for relief – mental relief – from the pain elsewhere.¬†Sometimes it is alcohol. Sometimes I call on my friend Seamus for something more exotic. Sometimes the simplest of pleasures will do the trick. This time the doctor says no alcohol and Seamus is away in another time. What will be my oasis from the pain for these two to three weeks? Fortunately, I know the answer.


A bar of chocolate. Or rather, A Bar Of Chocolate.

So simple, so nice.

A high-quality yet still simple Bar Of Chocolate. A little piece of Heaven. And only two cents. (In my travels to the future you would not believe what I have paid for a high-quality bar of chocolate. “How much?” you ask. Believe me, you would not believe it. The two-cent bar of chocolate is one of the main reasons I am living in this time.)

I sit in the cottage on the island I have just purchased across the water from my castle with a bar of chocolate in hand and a cup of fine coffee within arms reach. This bar of chocolate contains almonds. Chocolate and almonds. The creator of this delicacy was a genius!

A friend from the future told me dark chocolate is good for pain. He usually knows about such things. I chose not to confer with the doctor about this nor research it in the Winterfell Library. I trust my friend. And I love dark chocolate. I would truly hate to discover my friend is wrong in this case.

A pint of stout or glass of red wine would push this moment beyond perfect. But I have the doctors orders and I will follow them.

And so, I nurse my pain. I sit by the fire, looking through the window at the snow, with a cup of fine coffee and a Bar Of Chocolate. And pity for those who are not doing the same.