My massage was awesome! It felt medical, like it was actually intervening in my body in heavy ways. It was not a good hard back rub like most massages. She spent like 55 minutes just working on my fucked up leg, and crazy changes were felt inside of me! She told me so much information and gave me so much homework. I came home feeling stoned and loose and awesome.
She also diagnosed me as perimenopausal, after I told her all my symptoms and my age and everything. She was so matter-of-fact. It got super Real Talk, real fast.
“Oh yeah, that’s perimenopause. If you want to have kids you’ve got like one and a half years, tops.”
“Oh man, that’s so sad.”
“Why is it sad?!”
“…I don’t know…”
“Do you want to have kids?”
“Then why is it sad?”
“I guess it’s just one more milestone on the march toward death.”
“So what? Everybody dies, big deal.”
“I know! But it’s still sad.”
“No it’s not! ‘Oh boo hoo, poor me, why do I have to die someday, IT’S NOT FAIR, everybody else gets to live forever!'”
“[laughing] I know, it’s true! You’re so right!”
I love Real Talk. Don’t give me bullshit, don’t give me a runaround. Then she put me on the table and pinpointed every single place I have weird problems. She is a mystic witchy woman!
Just put up some more advice over at Advice, check it out!
Now back to avant garde music. Just read about a Carl Ruggles performance where an audience member was hissing and Charles Ives stood up and yelled “You God-Damn sissy, why don’t you open your ears like a man?” which is just so wonderful and strange and I never thought about atonality being macho before, thank you Charles Ives and your successful insurance business.