When i was younger i was told to pick up my feet when i walked. Not only was it unladylike but such habit seemed to annoy those people around me. And now, when i hear the sound of slippers being dragged along by lazy feet across a surface, it not only makes me cringe but it's true, it's just plain ugly.
But when my mother told me to sit up straight at the dining table, somehow that single piece of advice went in through one ear and out the other [along with numerous other things]. And like most kids who like to think they "know" better, i chose to ignore her quality advice.
To this day i wish i had a compact personal pint-sized Japanese masseuse to bust out from a secret compartment, much like those Polly Pockets but obviously much bigger and accompanied with an array of scented oils. She would end each session walking along my spine as if she were walking on a thin wire. And with each step my spinal chord would crack into place as if nothing happened.
*sigh* I guess that's why they have chiropractors eh?
But being the smarty pants that i am, i've spent an unhealthy amount of time seated at my dining table and hunched over in front of my laptop. Unfortunately i was not blessed with an excess supply of cush on my tush. And the thought of my arse mysteriously reshaping itself one day to mimic the surface of the chair seat has crossed my mind. Seriously, it's like having someone with a bony arse sit on your lap whilst you're on a cross country road trip.
Simply put, it's DAMN UNCOMFORTABLE!
One forgets to take breaks, just as one often forgets to save their work seconds before a blackout. Minutes turn into hours and because of that i NOW suffer the consequences.
But last Friday i was [T H I S] close to booking an appointment during my lunch hour for a 30 minute shoulder and neck massage near my office. Between exiting the office and crossing the road, i soon found myself seated again with a menu and speaking to the waiter about my order.
It's not as if my insides were on the verge of turning against one another. It wasn't like i was starving that i needed to tuck into a feast like a carnivore on heat. In fact i wasn't even hungry. So what could have been a midday 30 minutes of better-than-sex massage ended with me getting NOTHING and i blaming my brain for having shifted to auto-pilot.
So in the meantime i'll whack on a few SALONPAS plasters on the areas that hurt, that way i'm able to keep the flesh-on-fire sensation to a minimum then wait for the magic to unfold.
ADVICE: If you suffer from aches and you don't mind smelling as if you've just raided an antique Camphor wooden chest then i say, PASTE AWAY! And speaking with past experience, i suggest you wash your hands after because when that shit gets in your eye it's definitely no eye bath.
But when my mother told me to sit up straight at the dining table, somehow that single piece of advice went in through one ear and out the other [along with numerous other things]. And like most kids who like to think they "know" better, i chose to ignore her quality advice.
To this day i wish i had a compact personal pint-sized Japanese masseuse to bust out from a secret compartment, much like those Polly Pockets but obviously much bigger and accompanied with an array of scented oils. She would end each session walking along my spine as if she were walking on a thin wire. And with each step my spinal chord would crack into place as if nothing happened.
*sigh* I guess that's why they have chiropractors eh?
But being the smarty pants that i am, i've spent an unhealthy amount of time seated at my dining table and hunched over in front of my laptop. Unfortunately i was not blessed with an excess supply of cush on my tush. And the thought of my arse mysteriously reshaping itself one day to mimic the surface of the chair seat has crossed my mind. Seriously, it's like having someone with a bony arse sit on your lap whilst you're on a cross country road trip.
Simply put, it's DAMN UNCOMFORTABLE!
One forgets to take breaks, just as one often forgets to save their work seconds before a blackout. Minutes turn into hours and because of that i NOW suffer the consequences.
But last Friday i was [T H I S] close to booking an appointment during my lunch hour for a 30 minute shoulder and neck massage near my office. Between exiting the office and crossing the road, i soon found myself seated again with a menu and speaking to the waiter about my order.
It's not as if my insides were on the verge of turning against one another. It wasn't like i was starving that i needed to tuck into a feast like a carnivore on heat. In fact i wasn't even hungry. So what could have been a midday 30 minutes of better-than-sex massage ended with me getting NOTHING and i blaming my brain for having shifted to auto-pilot.
So in the meantime i'll whack on a few SALONPAS plasters on the areas that hurt, that way i'm able to keep the flesh-on-fire sensation to a minimum then wait for the magic to unfold.
ADVICE: If you suffer from aches and you don't mind smelling as if you've just raided an antique Camphor wooden chest then i say, PASTE AWAY! And speaking with past experience, i suggest you wash your hands after because when that shit gets in your eye it's definitely no eye bath.
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