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I got a massage last weekend. An hour with no phones, no email, no web. It was so liberating. And the massage therapist didn’t speak English as her native language so there wasn’t even any conversation. While I was lying there lots of random thoughts popped into my brain.

Here they are for your consideration…

I didn’t touch my mom at all last week. She’s here. She’s babysitting. And I didn’t physically touch her once. That’s terrible. I remember watching TV with her. My sister leaning on her on one side, me on the other. We always wanted to be with her. Always wanted to be together.

I wonder why they don’t massage our stomachs?
I would hate it. But maybe I wouldn’t…

How weird is it that I barely let my husband touch my thighs and this chick is spending like ten minutes on them? ‘Nuff said on this one.

Who came up with the headrest for the massage table? Because I have a bone to pick with them. It really stinks. It hurts my neck. My nose gets congested. I don’t like looking at the floor. There must be a better option.

I like facials oh so much better than massages. I write. I sit in front of the computer. My legs and back are fine, thank you. But my shoulders and head — well, they could use a rubbing every single day. Hence, why I like facials way more.

There should be a sliding scale for massages. I am tall. I have long, strong legs with strong muscles. (Thank you, spin bike.) The massage therapist usually has to take a long time to finish them. But my arms are sort of spindle-y compared to say a 6’5″ guy. A quick rub, so to speak. This is why I think massage prices should be based on square footage of skin. Why should I pay the same as the 6’5″ guy? I shouldn’t, just like my 4’11″ friend shouldn’t have to pay what I pay.

I don’t want to go back to my college years. I have a friend who texted me from her niece’s high school graduation. “Would love to go back and do it all over again,” she wrote. Uggg. Not me. Too much drama. I was poor. I didn’t have my own space yet. I wasn’t nice yet. Selfish and poor, that was me. Plus, I had my abusive, crazy ex in my life. He was, at the time, stalking me. (So crazy that this guy is a C-level exec at a major company right now. Bet they don’t know he was arrested for stealing weapons from LaGuardia Airport. He was so lucky he was a little shy of 21 when it happened.) So no, I have no interest in going back to that time.

I’m sure there were more random thoughts, but that’s all I can remember right now. Hope everyone is having a good week.

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