Air

Air is terrible.

Well, correction, air is wonderful, this isn't air that we have available for breathing.


Yesterday hurt. Everything hurts. I have no desire for overtime. Hoping that heat and massage will loosen the spasms and let me rest. I go without jewelry (ring or earrings, not like I wear much) no electronics. I will spend a couple of hours out of clothes, not for show, no exhibitionist I. Not unlike surgery in that way. I will live in my body, in my skin, become silence to listen to the body.

I resist the urge to shower, since I will be steamed and soaked soon anyway. Nothing frou-frou, mind, no delicate facials, my nails are my own business. Just hot water and skilled hands and silences.

So often, I wish I could have just been a massage therapist, no bright lights, hard floors and loud surgeons. But then I remember a smarmy man who wanted impersonal sexual service, and I'm glad to have bright rooms and a team, and the authority to shut down anything creepy. That guy accepted my no, the massage was over, he was brusquely told to leave. Still, unnerving, and I didn't feel like ever having to deal with that again.

It was also a matter of having to run a business, where I had no interest nor talent. And now my hands have arthritis, so perhaps it's just as well. I take care of the people I'm close to, and call it my hobby. And can accept massage with attentiveness. When I was in nursing school, I would get a massage some time right before finals. Went in to exams relaxed and thinking clearly.


I'm home, steamed, soaked and kneaded. Feeling much the better for it.