After four or five hours of failing to work up a head of steam to write the topic I thought I had chosen for tonight, I have given up and am admitting defeat. I can't find it in me to care about what I was going to write. I hurt everywhere, but I don't want to be pitied. I did too much physical activity this week (deep housecleaning is hard for me), and then this morning I soaked for an hour in an Epsom salt bath before going for a massage. Slow Hand and I have discovered when I do that, my muscles are actually too soft, and he's able to work deeper than when I come in knotted and cold. I hurt everywhere because everything was stretched and loosened too much. So don't feel sorry for me. I know I'm lucky that I'm able to get the regular therapeutic massages I need.
I did the worst thing possible, thinking I was protecting the deep massage work. I completely covered my legs, arms, and shoulders in Ben Gay as soon as I got home. I then froze for about two hours, shivering under a blanket, swearing I would never apply menthol to that many square inches of my body at one time ever again. At some point I fell asleep, which is good, because that was awful. By the time I woke, the menthol had been absorbed, but my body is now one giant deep bruise from my earlobes to my heels. Man, I hope tomorrow is better. (I have every reason to believe this will be over by then.)
My song for this evening is selected for the Greyhound bus that appears to have run me over. My photo is of my friend's Christmas cactus that is blooming profusely in her window. My brain is oozing out my ear holes. I'll consider going over the topic I punted on tomorrow, if I remember. Not counting on it.
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