Every single human over two counties was out and about in my home town today. Maybe I'm exaggerating, maybe not. I know what I saw. Three or four states down south have declared themselves open, and it appears in our pandemic fatigue, northern Coloradans have decided to release themselves on their own recognizance. I'm sure the fact that it was a gorgeously warm, almost-spring Saturday played into it. All the roads were clogged with cars. Pedestrians were streaming in and out of all the stores I drove past. Restaurant patios were packed. Nobody wanted to be cooped up today.
Even I fell victim to a little cabin fever. I have been paying monthly dues for my massage membership, but I haven't actually gone in to get one in a year. I was too afraid of being cooped up in a small room with someone outside of my pod. Today I decided it was worth the risk to me. I hurt too much in too many places, so I went back to see Slow Hand, declaring myself the prodigal son returning. I double-masked, but while I was face down in the cradle, I only wore an N95. I didn't tell him to focus on any one area, but rather to gently start working me loose again. I told him I was like a bag of brown sugar left open in the pantry. It would be possible to make me flexible again, but it wasn't going to be easy.
I've gone back and forth between feeling fantastic and feeling like I was going to barf ever since I got home. Drinking water has helped a lot. I think breaking up all the little knots that were holding in gunk destined for my liver, kidneys, or lymphatic system swamped my defenses. I refuse to regret my choice to go back for a massage. It was the right thing to do, and I've already scheduled my next two. In a perfect world, by the time they come around, I will have had my first vaccine shot, or at least been awarded an appointment for one. There is light at the end of the tunnel, and if today is any indication, it's bright, bright sunlight.
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