Before the massage today, I took advantage of the hotel pool. A dark room, barely lit, the bottom of the pool unseeable, the water lit a dark green. The water no temperature hot or cold, almost unnoticeable. I glided right in, solitary in this oasis. I felt the need to do laps. Not michael phelps exercise laps, but the need to move, to keep my feet from touching the bottom. I floated on my back and reflected.
What an amazing 22 years. What an amazing last year I just had. Last summer. Last two days. What a phenomenal time ahead of me. Not only that, but how lucky am I to have the people I have around me. The people at home. The people from school. You, reading this now. And as I did my lame little laps alone in this tranquil pool, I focused on the fact that this happiness I’m feeling should be everyday, forever. It can’t be, it won’t be, but that should be the goal. And it’s what I, and everyone I know, deserves. To embrace old friends and memories, to strike up a conversation with a total stranger just to see what happens. To be open to love something surprising and new, and free to let go of what’s let you down.
On a less sappy note, my Facebook says “Person X, Person Y and 126 other people wrote on your wall today.”
From the bottom of my heart, those ten, fifteen, whoever really reads this blog… Thanks for caring about my silliness, and know the feeling is absolutely mutual.
God I really should have peed before I came into this room.
Your hands are soft.
I’m going to pretend this is the cutest guy I know giving me this massage.
Wow his hands are soft.
“Do you have back pain? You have a significant curve in your lower back.” Illusion shattered.
Does she notice the bruise I still have from falling down the stairs last December?
Did she pick up on the fact I couldn’t tell which side of the disposable underwear was the front?
Is scrapbooking disposal underwear the most revolting thought ever?
Can I cut a hole in my mattress so I can sleep facedown?
I just drooled.
When the nice lady says “how are you feeling, good?” has anyone ever just responded “gassy, actually”?
Dammit, now I have the giggles. Get it together.
Shit. I’m shaking.
Oo, that tickles.
What’s it like to date a massage therapist?
Forget that. Is there a Massaging for Dummies book?
Is it available on Kindle?
Why can’t I turn my brain off? Why am I thinking so much?
Why am I thinking about thinking?
Is there a Rosetta Stone for sensual massage whisper language?
I worked in an office and the furthest I walked this summer was Starbucks. My feet are embarrassingly gross.
Yep, that’s what she’s thinking.
Oo, scratch right there. No?