i’m a sucker for a massage. i know, it’s counterintuitive. i’m not a hugger, i don’t really like close talkers, or people inside my personal space. but, for some reason, i’m totally down with getting naked and laying on a table, covered only in a sheet with a perfect stranger touching me ALL over. i have no trouble relaxing in this environment. i do, however, have a hard time silencing my mind. no, i’m not thinking about what i’m going to make for dinner, or what i have going on the rest of the day. i find myself wondering what the masseuse is thinking while they do their job. it is like a menial job i once had where i sat all day and put bike lights in boxes? do they allow their mind to wonder? or is it more like surgery, where they have to really be paying attention to what they are doing? yep, these are the things i deliberate over EVERY TIME i get a massage. i have yet to decide which would be worse, that they are just on auto pilot, checking the clock every once in a while so as not to give any freebee rubs…..
or that they are paying such close attention to my body that it becomes almost like a dissection. golly, she’s built like a fire plug. she could have at least shaved her legs. i wonder if she’s a little person. her tattoos are stupid. she really needs to work on her back fat. is that a corn she has developing on her foot? there’s no place like home there’s no place like home there’s no place like home…crap i forgot my ruby slippers.
i keep thinking one day i’ll get up the nerve to ask him what he thinks about, but i bet he wouldn’t tell me the truth.
so i’ll just…..obsess.