knotty girl

it's back. my perpetually tense right shoulder. it's been gone for a good long while – ok, only since my last work-sanctioned and paid for massage.

it just kills me that advertising, a profession of chronically stressed-out folk who tend to abuse themselves in all manners – chemical, athletic, emotional, etc. – provides such an enlightened benefit to counteract the damage its minions inflict upon themselves. what's sad is that so few take any sort of advantage of this tax-free benefit. i think i am the massage therapist's only "regular".

i'd be more regular if i could be. we don't even have to leave the office. take off our clothes. do anything. my only regret is that these are 20 minute mini sessions. i could easily take a full hour of bliss. last time, i was such a knotty girl that just lying on the table, not thinking, not doing anything at all was relaxing. the pounding i took from the therapist helped something i'm sure, but he said, "i'm not sure that you'll really feel any different."

he was wrong. i felt like i pulled a fast one: i cheated the company by taking a 30 minute break and not working. ha! take that timesheet program!

although i claim the right shoulder is the only one that causes me pain, i am actually wrong. the massage therapist points out at every session that both shoulders are affected. the left is perhaps even worse, yet it doesn't really affect me. oh well. he'll be earning his fee tomorrow that's for sure. and he'll remind me to do my stretches, even though i have been doing them, not just when the knot shows up.

and i think i'm catching a cold. the change in the seasons or perhaps just the fact that everyone in the office is slightly run down from a summer spent toiling long hours has increased the petri dish-like germ breeding. sneezing. coughing. voice losing.

imagine if advertising was a profession where everyone had children in day care (surprise, the ruthlessly youth-oriented culture is almost anti-breeder, unless of course you reach a senior level) – it would be way worse.

so i spent yet another evening on the couch, the bulldog at my feet with a scratchy gunky throat. i read another magazine. ironically this month's O was about aging, a popular obsession with most of my friends from the yummy mummy who is on the edge of 30 to the successful single guy who as he gets closer to 40 only sees what's missing (wife, kids, house) rather than his achievements. i'll have to spend some more time with the issue, but i know i'm just as guilty as my friends about the age obsession.

yet, i wouldn't trade 36 to be 26 again. true, i was thinner, my hair was less gray. but was i happier? sure, i was on the verge of being a newlywed (so i was super-stressed) but i was definitely not as happy in my own skin. when i look in the mirror today, i feel better about who i am. or at least more sure about the chick looking back at me.

i've worked hard to get to the place i'm at with my career. i am blessed with a happy marriage. i have a snorting, snoring, farting, barfing bulldog who wags her tail when i come home. i have a nice comfy house to live in. i've worked hard to try to put the past behind me and mend bridges with my parents. i try to be a good friend, a mentor, a generally nice person (ok, not when i'm pmsing) and a buddha behind the wheel even when i get cut off.

in short (and i am short), i am pretty lucky. now if i could just get rid of this knot....