I went to get my massage today. I've been looking forward to getting one for weeks. My old masseuse, Lara (great, another La(u)ra to keep track of in my life), left for Oregon with her vegan boyfriend a few months ago. So I had to find a new person to poke and prod on my back. This new massage lady was Toya (as in Latoya, I assume, or as in "my parents gave me a freakishly weird name"). At least I don't know any other Toyas. Toya was very nice, all 98 pounds of her, but a bit too chatty for me. There is a fine line between being social with your client and telling your entire life story. In under an hour I learned that she left her ex-husband in New York, has two kids, a fiance, a new bed from her fiance for Christmas, has a Type A blood type (which apparently means she has thick blood), only eats red meat during her period, and gets constipated when she's pregnant. A good number of those gems of information were things she could have saved for our second appointment or really kept to herself indefinitely.
But my back does feel a bit better. I just miss Lara. Lara was very mellow and didn't use strange smelly things. Why did you forsake me, Lara, and make me have to search for a new massage lady?
My massage wasn't all I was hoping it would be today, but it did give me an hour to lie still and just chill. I need more of those hours.