I now have confirmation that I am, in fact, literally tightly wound: I had a massage today.
I am actually a huge fan of massage, because about ten years ago I had problems with my lower back going out, which resulted in a number of sessions of lying flat on the floor being bored out of my mind. To rectify this, I went to a sports massage person at the student health care center, and he was BRILLIANT. He completely cured my back, and it's never gone out since. But I stopped going once my back was better, because I was a grad student and didn't have the money to keep getting massages. (In fact, I had to ask my parents for money to pay for the sessions I did have. My mom, who trained as a nurse in the science-is-king 1950s, worried that massage was rather, well, holistic, in fact, a little close to [gasp] chiropractry, and shouldn't I really go see an orthopedist and get an prescription for muscle relaxants? I said, why would I want to take drugs if I can do something to cure this withOUT drugs? And was very happy to be correct.)
So, that was ten years ago. I had one massage the year I moved out here (which was at a spectacularly nice salon, but was of the soothing rather than vigorous variety). Fast forward to two weeks or so ago, when I had my first massage since then.
Yes, my workplace brings in a masseuse once a week to give 20-minute chair massages. Yes, it's a difficult life I lead.
Anyway, the nice massage lady asked me if I had any areas of concern, and I said it had been so long since I'd had a massage, and I'm so kinked up from sitting in front of the computer every day, that whatever she wanted to do was fine.
I sat in the chair, she got started, and instantly these slender little fingers of iron honed in on two HUGE knots in my shoulders. She found exactly the right place and just sort of held her fingers there. And it hurt like a mofo. I swear, it was like she'd found the parts of my shoulders that were sick, and she was letting all the bad stuff out.
So after that, I decided that for my birthday, I was going to get myself a full-length, real massage. (Yup, it's my birthday today.) And at first I worried that it wasn't going to be that great. My massage therapist was a large and cheerful young woman, but initially seemed to be more of a blunt instrument than the laser beam of the woman who came to my firm. (Of course, it later dawned on me that if you give your massages in 20 minute increments, you have to get good at honing in on problems quickly.)
But then she found my teres muscle and poked it for a while. And I thought my shoulders were going to explode. And when I finally stood up at the end of it all, I felt like someone had yanked my shoulders back, like there had been some kind of yoke before pulling my shoulders forward, and someone had finally released it.
(I think that yoke would be called "the keyboard" and "the mouse.")
I also came out of there feeling completely stoned. "Says the woman who's never BEEN stoned," NLLDH says to me. Well, this is what I imagine it's like (and if it's not, why does anyone bother?) - light, serene, blissful. It really did feel like my muscles had been full of toxins and the massage had released them all.
Anyway, my nice massage lady said the same thing that the sports massage guy said to me so many years ago: I'm wound tight as a drum. She said that if she were living in my body, she'd find it really painful.
Apparently I need extensive, extensive massage sessions.
Such a tragedy.


