A Hunk, a Hunk of Burnin' Massage Envy

Today was a red-letter day at work.  One of my co-workers won lunch and 10-minute neck massages for all of us, and this was the day we got to collect.  For those of us who crouch over our computers for hours on end, a neck massage is closely akin to a temporary release from torture.  The chiropractor who did mine took about 30 seconds to find all the tight spots, and by the end of my ten minutes he'd managed to unknot most of them.  My spine was cracking and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies.

I had my first professional massage only a few years ago, as a present from Barry.  That experience was even more sublime - low lights, scented candles, New Age Music and a tiny but muscular masseuse with fingers like steel pistons.  By the time she'd finished poking, prodding and kneading my helpless body, I could barely peel myself off the massage table.  It was an experience I've only been able to repeat a few times since, but it never fails to feel like a mini-vacation.

Of course, after today's ecstasy was over, it was back to the laptop.  Amazingly, during all the years I worked in insurance with a stiff neck, a muscle knot between the shoulder blades, and a decent salary, it never occurred to me that I could get rid of the kinks by scheduling regular massages.  Now that I've seen the light, I can't afford them.  Damn.  Talk about a serious case of massage envy.


"Your fascia called and it wants its good posture back." ~ Ryan Hoyme