Short Blog Post 'cuz I'm Soooo Relaxed

I just got back from my first massage appointment.
This was another step in the "I'm going to prove to the world that I'm not getting older, I'm getting..." Nah, I won't go into that cliche'. More like, "at this rate, I won't be able to move by the time I'm 56." I was prepared for the massage therapist to tell me I felt a bit tight: not quite prepared for her to say, even before she put a hand on me, "Your shoulders are up around your ears, y'know. They aren't supposed to be there." Well, ok, so I'm a little stressed. Then she actually got to work.

The sounds of my joints, muscles, bones, and probably my blood vessels cracking and popping must have resonated out into the hallway. Every time she hit a new spot, she'd say "No, relax, don't tighten up." Finally realizing that telling me to relax wasn't going to help, she just forced me into fake "relaxed positions." Like the "smile" mantra. Supposedly if you walk around smiling when you're depressed, you will start to feel happy for real. I've only ever gotten sore cheek muscles.

"You really just don't ever shut down and let go, do you?"
"Why would I do that? Then things would fall apart around me even more."
"Breathe. . .no, breathe, count 1001, 1002--you aren't going to be able to get past 1003, are you?"
Not likely. I've never been able to breathe deeply; doctors always think I have miniature lungs. I understand all the benefits of relaxing and breathing deeply but, c'mon, who has time? Isn't that what cocktail hour is for? To work out all the stress kinks of the day? Oh. . .you're saying that de-kinking for one hour isn't the goal? Well, it's a mighty fine mini-goal.

When I was finished, though, I had to admit something was different. I won't say I felt like I could apply for a contortionist job, but my shoulders weren't up by my ears anymore. About all those toxins she said were going to be flushed out of my system? Sorry, folks, I'm going to need to see some scientific evidence on that one. Now, gin? That I believe flushes toxins. Just notice how often you go pee after a couple of martinis.

Well, gotta go--must be the massage.