Compared to that last few weeks, I feel like I'm practically floating on air. I finally got in for a massage, only the second one with the therapist I met for the first time last fall. She is fantastic, and quite easy to chat with during sessions. She and I have a lot in common, and we talk like we have known each other for years. I rather like that. I also rather like her massage style. She is different than my regular guy, but no less talented. I splurged on an aromatherapy add-on, which was nice, but somewhat dulled by wearing a mask. I have the leftover lotion, so perhaps I'll wear a bit of it on my hands when I go to bed, to see just how soothing the "soothe" blend actually us.
I allowed this massage to dominate my entire day. I counted the seconds until I was able to go, acting like I could do no other activities until I had my appointment. Likewise, I did very little after it, because, well, you know how chilled out one gets after that, right? It was really a public service that I came straight home after, and didn't try to run errands. Can you imagine how dangerous I could have been driving around town, zoned out with slow reflexes? I did it for you, Colorado. You're welcome.
I asked for baby pictures to round out my evening, but I waited too late to ask. When my daughter saw my message, it was right after the kiddo went to bed. Instead, I got photos of the little old lady cats who don't end up in the blog, almost ever. Introductions are in order. The fluffy concoction is Darwin, called Winny. The frail tortie is Fenêtre, as in the French word for window. Winny stays on the edge of my periphery most of the time, making sure I see her, but interacting with me only when she deems me worthy. Fenêtre takes the opposite tack. If she sees me, she claims me. She is a champion lap kitty. Cuddler emeritus, as it were. Age has its privileges, as well she knows.
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