Ah, massaging.
I've had a massage or two in my day, and I always forget what the experience is like. I mostly only recall the body-buzz and euphoria that I experience about twenty minutes after it is all over. I forget about the during. The during? Hurts sometimes. Especially this time. I had a masseur for the first time ever on Saturday- Edward. He spoke with a vaguely German accent, in calm soothing tones, belying the KNIVES he had for fingers.
Jesus.
I mean, I know about relaxing and releasing, sending my breath to where it hurts and all that shit. But this guy? He changed my inner mantra from "relax, release, send your breath..." to, "relax, release, HOLY GOD STOP TOUCHING ME, YOU MAY BREAK MY SPINE IN TWO, YOU BASTARD!" There was a moment when he did a weird, Mr. Miyagi type thing near the small of my back and I feared that my butt would burst into flames.
I think that it must have just smoldered a little, because here I sit, fully intact.
I even suspect that I'm better for the beating-up he gave me, because I haven't felt this loose in months. But really, they were like knives, I tell you. Knives!