Body Work
Two a.m. and I was wide awake, not because I wanted to be. Maybe I should find something to knock me into unconsciousness when bedtime rolls around.
Now, at 5 p.m. the next day, I’m actually looking forward to heading off to bed instead of fearing it.
On November 4, the day after a disconcerting national election, we remain uncertain regarding the future leadership of this painfully divided country. Even so, I think there’s a reasonable chance that I’ll sleep well on this night.
After an incredibly forceful, sometimes downright painful, massage this afternoon, I’m feeling like an overcooked string of spaghetti with nothing in the world worth worrying about. If I can just hang onto this feeling until bedtime.
It has been a long while since I’ve treated myself to a massage. I signed up for a frugal 30 minutes. “But 30 minutes,” is soo short,” the Chinese master of massage insisted. It didn’t take much for me to cave in.
Oh how it hurt! Oh how much I needed it! I had creaks and squeaks and sore spots I didn’t even know I had. I savored every ouchy moment.
I drove home in a pleasant, loopy daze, barely hitting thirty miles an hour, knowing I needed to pay attention to keeping my wits about me.
“Que sera, sera,” I daydream. “Whatever will be will be.”
And then I remember the next line of the song. “The future’s not ours to see.”
It’s all about learning to live with those words of wisdom.
Oh the wonders of massage. Thanks for this post as it reminded me of how much I have been craving a massage, yet a little nervous about getting it during these times!
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