Relax they all say.
But I can’t.
“They” are all the people who’ve ever touched my back, neck, arms, shoulders. The people who’ve taken blood or inserted needles.
I’m no gooda at the relaxa.
(Sorry just lapsed back into my traditional Italian there for a bit.)
My chiropractor who specialises in a type of Neuro Chiropractic stuff says that there’s something in my brain that makes my fight or flight mode constantly on and armed.
My muscles are always tense.
I also have a wonderful condition where spasmatic jerks can occur. Sometimes they’re triggered by lights, sometimes by touch and sometimes by stress.
So it was with a little trepidation today that I went and had a deep tissue massage.
I’ve been feeling sore and achey for days.
I took the day off work because I couldn’t comprehend having to spend another day talking.
And instead of waiting for an hour or more in a doctors waiting room I went for a massage.
The Chinese man wearing the English football club T-shirt told me to remove my top and my thing. I asked his if meant bra and he said yes.
So I did and lay down on the table with my boobs all squished.
He kept asking if I was happy with the pressure and I said yes.
(Even when I thought there was a chance he might dislocate my head from my neck.)
Oh and it was good. He didn’t ask me to relax. He was just rough. He pushed and pulled and got his elbows to make my back pop.
I could feel the knots or air or whatever it was being pushed to the sides like you do with air bubbles under contact when you’re covering a book.
He was a fairly heavy breather and I may have moaned.
Then I paid the man for providing the pleasure and we were all happy.
And even slightly relaxed. x