Dear Kay,
I thought I’d do something nice for myself after quite a few weeks of hard shit at work. I got in there, and I’m lying with my face in the hole and she’s massaging away and it’s feeling really nice. I’m thinking ‘this is for the wisdom teeth, this is for the last few weeks at work, this is for all those body image issues, that’s for that student who told me if we excluded her, her mother would just die…and we did. That’s for all the relationship anxiety, that’s for the guilt, that’s for the wishing and wanting and for ever wanting to be anything other than this.
I don’t know. There’s a theory that when you get tense you hold it all in your muscles and massage lets it out. After I left I floated on a cloud back to the house, giggling away, and then fell asleep and woke up….troubled. Sort of…torn up? Sort of…at a loss? Could be because it’s Sunday and I did basically nothing all weekend, could be that my muscles were all relaxed and then tensed back up again, could be that I don’t know, the whole thing was just really stalling. I’m just so tired. I slept 14 hours today, including 10 over night and then a four hour nap. And I’m still kind of over it, but in a different way.
I balled my way through Australian Idol, I keep shying away from Squidge, I only want to listen to the sad songs on my ipod and then they just make me worse. And my neck still hurts, and my shoulders are still tense. And there were all these wonderful things I thought of doing while she was massaging me, and now I can’t be arsed and they’re all gone. I’m back to…me.
I started looking for a new job thinking maybe the inordinate amount of shit I have to deal with on a daily basis is just way too much. I want to do something even a little bit creative. Then it could just be this time of year.
I’ve got three weeks leave coming up, after another month of hell. I’m sort of excited and also shit scared, because fuck knows what I’m going to do. Sleep. Fuck around on the couch, probably. I want to reorganise the bedroom (mid-massage realisation that it’s NOT the most comfortable place I think of when I want to visualise myself somewhere perfect, and that’s not right). I want to make some art, sorry, Make Some Art, for the wall. I want to chuck out all the clothes I don’t wear, and never will, so that I can fit all the clothes that are all over the floor in there. I want to nail some coat hooks to the wall so there aren’t jackets all over the fucking place. I want to learn new recipes because I’m so fucking sick of fucking Dolmio. I want to take Pilates.
But I’m scared I’ll do none of it. My neck will hurt or my teeth will fuck up again and I’ll spend three weeks on the couch doing nothing, slowly dissolving any sort of respect I might have once had for myself.
Fucking massages.
--K.
