Post Massage

There's something like an ethereal fire between my shoulderblades right now. The mat I laid on was a heated sheepskin, covered with a flannel sheet. She found clumps of calcium deposits in recesses I didn't even know exist. She did, indeed, beat the piss out of me. But it was productive, for as much as it hurt.

I'm milking this day off. Tea, soup and a seven layer bar at the coffee shop, enjoying wireless hookup as opposed to the snail paced dial-up I deal with in our home.....

I just had lunch with a girlfriend who I used to live with. I was a doula for she and her husband's first birth (and second, come to think of it) and it worked out that around that time, I needed housemates to live with me in the big, beautiful home I had just moved into. Bill and I had just split and I probably wouldn't have thought to have a brand spankin' new family move in with me but they asked if they could and so I agreed.

Ella was only a month old when Bill and I moved into a house with a roommate.... a guy we hardly knew. We hadn't been together real long before we found out we were pregnant and there's really nothing harder on a relationship than introducing parenthood. Throw a housemate into the mix and things just get even stranger. I didn't want to be that monkey wrench for them but they seemed to think it would be a good mix.

And it was.

Except for the fact that her husband contracted chicken pox from Ella that winter and got really sick. Oh, and the fact that they had to deal with my relationship drama that just wouldn't seem to wane. Oh, and the leaky roof, and the driveway as steep as an alpine slide. And the time she came home with her younger sisters to find me in my bedroom with a girlfriend of mine, wasted on red wine and cutting out scarlet letters and pinning them to our t-shirts with safety pins (it was a theatrical kind of therapy~ long story ~ another post). We ended up on the roof that night, chanting goddess songs. I don't know. I don't remember.

I digress.