It’s a 2nd floor walk-up, the massage place I went today. Up the creaking stairs covered in purple carpet, I felt like I was back in Boston. Two people sat perched at the top of the stairs. They stared at me. I rounded the corner to the little entry way and gave my name. I was the sole customer.
The room was small, with miscellaneous items piled under the massage table for storage. I didn’t know where to put my bag. The table didn’t feel as comfortable as other places’ but the sheets seemed clean enough.
Yesterday, I felt pretty crappy, and while I woke up feeling good this morning, today wasn’t much better. Found myself sobbing in the car on the way there – traffic, people honking, the general build up of frustrations over the day. Was extra grateful that I’d booked the massage and didn’t put it off thinking I’d feel better.
While the place itself was shabby, my masseuse was good. Her “medium” pressure was harder than I’m used to, her strong hands kneading my muscles and squeezing the tension out of me.
So, hot stones. Never had this before. It was pretty magnificent. It was a typical massage, but she placed hot rocks on my back, over the sheets at first, like a heating blanket with concentrated heat. Then, she had hot rocks in her hands as she massaged – it was amazing. So, grateful for this – for having spent the money on the voucher back in June, so I could get a massage now without spending money today – and for taking time to take care of myself.
Also, grateful that my fiance spent a good chunk of time booking our flights home for Christmas (finally done!).
And this… time alone at my kitchen table, writing: