Today I am thankful for massages. I get a massage at least once a month. I don’t get one at a fancy salon or the gym or a massage specialty place. Nope, I go to Rhonda, an independent woman who knows her shit. Her magic fingers weasel their way between my muscle fibers and find not only the problems spots that have been ailing me, but issues I never even knew existed. I hope she never retires or moves away because I am spoiled for life. I couldn’t imagine going to anyone else.
I’m a firm believer that massage can heal a wide array of things if done by someone well trained. When I started seeing Rhonda, I could barely turn my head all the way to one side. My arms wouldn’t even straighten when relaxed at my sides. It’s been three and a half years since the first day I walked into her office, and man do I feel great.
In fact, I had a massage tonight. I’m a little stinky and slippery from the oils, but the cat doesn’t seem to mind because she’s all up on me. Blogging with limited arm motion is hard.