Snap, Crackle and Pop…

photo 3

This morning I felt like this ^^^^^^

I realised that I was tense as all hell and that I hadn’t had a massage in, oh… I don’t know… about 3 years. Maybe more. I used to get regular massages when I was working full time or I may not have otherwise coped. I would have been in foetal position in the corner. But given that I can’t get up the Coast to see my amazing friend and massage/reiki therapist Carly Brady (over at Akasha Therapies – Google the FB page and you won’t be disappointed!) until Week 5 of semester, I was just going to sit tight and wait.

But I was at the shops and somehow got talking about this issue to the shop assistant, who had just been to the Asian massage place 2 shops up… and she told me it was brilliant and not expensive. And I was in some serious pain. So in for a penny, in for a pound – I gave it a shot.

$30 for 30 minutes – shoulders, neck and head… Centrelink had been kind to me this week so I decided to splurge. It will mean 7 less grande-sized coffees this week but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

So this tiny, old asian man takes me, a 6 foot tall ‘paler shade of white’ Amazon woman, back to a series of 3 brown chairs that would have been better suited to a horrible 1970’s office fitout and sits me down, placing my shopping bags in a white bucket in front of me. He gets me to take my hairband out but my hairband was all caught up in my hair… I suddenly realise this is because (a) I put it up for my shower and forgot to brush my hair before going out, so it was still up there when I got to the shops and (b) in putting it up this morning, I did a crap job of it and my hair was entwined around the band. Many times. Seeing my dilemma and witnessing me ripping out a chunk of hair in my haste, my masseuse muttered “oh, very dry” in a disapproving voice. Then proceeded to give me a remedy of black sesame… thank you, Stefan. No, not dry – just stressed and forgetful.

And then for the next 15 mins he worked on my shoulders. Or I should say, he pummelled my shoulders into submission. When he started out lightly I was thinking “yeah, that’s not gonna cut the mustard” but he ramped it up quite quickly to the point where I could audibly hear the knots around my shoulder blades and in my neck popping away like a bowl of Rice Bubbles under the masterful rolling of his forearms and elbows. The release of 3 years of stress and tension was vile though. I immediately felt like throwing up as the toxins invaded my body… and interestingly, I chose that moment to sneak a look sideways at the people walking past in the shopping centre and saw a cow, a zebra and a leopard and I thought ‘Fuck. I’m hallucinating’. But no. It was 3 adults dressed in animal print onesies. As you do when you go shopping in the ‘burbs.

After a significant amount of knot-chasing in my neck, my little masseuse started to apologise over and over… saying “oh sorry, very red…. like fire”. Oh good. Like fire. Damn my alabaster skin… (sounds so much better than ‘practically albino’)

Then the magic moment – he started to massage my head… and couldn’t move my scalp.

“Very tight. Very hard”… and the massage was henceforth accompanied by soft grunts associated apparently (and hopefully) with the effort it took to loosen up my brain.

All that being said and despite the fact that I’m 99% sure I’m going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, he managed to do the trick. I can now look sideways without having to turn my whole body and my head doesn’t feel like someone vacuum-pumped the air out of it, shrink-wrapping my skull with the world’s tightest scalp.

Happy days! xx

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