tension – The View from a Drawbridge

Massage Message

What I learned from my very first massage.

Recently, on a cruise in Alaska, I had my very first massage. At age 54. There are several reasons for this.

First and foremost, of course, is the expense. Massages are not for poor people, who usually need them the most. It’s hard to budget for this type of luxury when you are struggling to keep a roof over your head. It is only very recently that I’ve stopped counting myself amongst that number, and even now, it’s hard to get out of the habit of avoiding unnecessary expenses.

Second is the fact that I really don’t like being touched by strangers. It takes me a while to feel comfortable with that level of intimacy. Sure, once you’ve broken down that barrier, I’m all about the affection. I just couldn’t imagine having someone’s hands all over me, invading my personal space, five seconds after meeting, you know?

Third, as I described at length in my post Cruise Ship Feudalism, I don’t do well with the whole class division thing. The thought of someone laboring over me in order to make a living kind of makes me squirm. I hate being catered to. I hate being served.

Fourth is that I’ve always struggled with the concept of being pampered. I was not brought up to believe I deserved such treatment. And I’m not a girly girl. I’ve never been to a spa. I’ve never had a facial or a manicure or a pedicure. I don’t use lotions or creams or gels. I come from a background that’s all about pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps and getting on with the business of living. My idea of luxury is a hot bath in a nice deep tub, followed by an afternoon nap. Now, that, I’d do 4 times a week if given the chance. I’m worthy of that, I feel, because it’s free, and it doesn’t involve strangers or servitude.

So you can imagine how much extra tension I was carrying when I went for this massage, which, by the way, I did not book myself. I didn’t know how to act or what to think. I couldn’t look the massage therapist in the eye. My first impression of her was that she was very tiny and that English wasn’t her first language. I thought that she must be lonely so far from home, and her little hands must ache at the end of the day. But that was probably me projecting my unease upon her.

In the end, she was very courteous, dignified and professional. She certainly knew what she was doing. And she used a salt scrub and hot rocks, too. When she finished working on one leg, I could do a physical comparison of the other leg, and I was absolutely shocked at the difference. I had no idea how much my stress manifests itself in physical form. Maybe I do need this. Maybe I deserve it.

In the end, I felt like I had no skeletal system at all. I was just relaxed mush. It was heavenly. They could have taken me out of there in a plastic bucket. My brain was mush, too. I was grateful that the tip is included in the fee, because at that point I wouldn’t have been able to work out what to add on.

So, yeah, that first massage won’t be my last. Maybe. Probably. We’ll see.

hot-stone-massage

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Razim Frazim Succotash!

Why do men always get so testy when they’re fixing stuff?

“Please don’t bother me,” he said, politely. But the tension was palpable.

Granted, he was up to his elbows in a mechanical nightmare, but jeez, why do men always get so freakin’ testy when they’re fixing stuff? I went away, feeling wounded. Men suck.

But I knew I would get over it, just as I knew he’d emerge from his blue funk once the project was completed. I’ve been avoiding grumpy men my whole life. I know the drill.

But then today at work, I decided to install new casement window handles myself. I mean, they were sitting right there. We have the tools. And if I waited for one of the mechanics to come out and do it, I’d probably be too old and feeble to open or close the windows. It’s only a priority for those of us who feel the wind wafting through the room as the temperature drops below freezing.

And I’d like to think I’m handy. I pretty much remodeled my first house. I used to do my own basic car repairs. It’s been a while, though. With increasing financial security comes the ability to hire someone else to do the scut work.

It should be easy, though. Just aligning screws in already existing holes. So I rolled up my sleeves and dove in to the project. And I soon found reasons to plunge into that same blue funkage myself.

To access the windows, I had to climb over furniture and contort myself into shapes that aren’t usually found in nature. And I’m not nearly as flexible as I once was. Then there’s the fact that some of the old handle screws had stripped the threads. And they had given us too many left handed latches, and not enough right handed ones. And our ratcheting screwdriver no longer ratchets. And I kept dropping the tiny little screws in all but inaccessible places.

Before I knew it, I was cursing like a sailor. And I imagined him walking in and cheerfully asking if I needed any help.

“Please don’t bother me,” I’d say.

I wonder if I’d have the class and dignity to say it as politely as he did? No. I’m thinking not. Definitely not.

Perspective. But at least we have window handles at work again. That counts for something.

Casement window latch

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Sweet Relief

I felt as though 500 pounds had been lifted off my shoulders.

Unless you have no pulse at all, you are carrying stress within you, even as you read this. We all do. It’s part of modern life. It comes from a feeling of being overwhelmed, and thinking that you can’t cope with a situation.

According to Wikipedia, that font of all human knowledge, stress can increase the risk of strokes, heart attacks, ulcers, and mental illnesses such as depression. So needless to say, stress is bad for you.

What I find particularly scary is how easily I fool myself into thinking I’ve gotten used to a certain level of anxiety. It’s as if I am coping simply because I’ve come to expect that I will have to wade through some crap, and that’s just the cost of doing business.

That doesn’t mean the stress, with all its toxic side effects, has disappeared. It just means that I’ve resigned myself to it. That’s problematic, because it also means that I’m no longer trying to do anything to relieve that stress. I’ve concluded that there’s no solution, so I just bathe in it, regardless of the pollution this brings into my world. After a while, I seem to forget it’s happening.

But every once in a while, some fortuitous thing occurs that removes a stressor from my life. That happened just this month. And the change within me has been profound. I started off by feeling slightly sick from the sheer release. Then I felt as though 500 pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. Freedom! Sweet relief.

And then there was the inevitable shock that I had been carrying that weight for so long without even realizing it. (Actually, I knew of about 50 pounds of it, but not the full 500.) It makes me wonder what other burdens I’m carrying. No wonder I’m so tired much of the time.

I think I need to work on being more aware of what my body is trying to tell me. I need to address issues whenever possible, even though I hate confrontation. I need to stop walking around with my head in the clouds and take better care of me.

In the meantime, I’m going to go do a happy dance to celebrate my newfound freedom. Woot!

Happy Dance

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Thought Experiment—An Invitation to the White House

What if.

Sometimes, when bored, I like to play a little game. I call it What If. Basically, it’s a thought experiment. What would you do in various situations?

This time, after reading the recent Op-Ed about the chaos in the White House, I thought, “Oooh, Trump’s head is going to explode! I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that!”

But would I, really? What would I do if I were invited to the White House during this insane administration? It would be like entering the heart of Mordor to visit Sauron. I’m not sure I’d have the intestinal fortitude for that.

I’ve been in the presence of evil a time or two, and it has shaken me to the very core of my being. Something about looking into the eye of someone who is completely devoid of a moral compass leaves me feeling like anything could happen, and I know I wouldn’t like it.

The tension in that building must be palpable. The morale must be at rock bottom, and the paranoia must be as thick as chocolate pudding. I’d probably get an instant migraine, just like I do when I attend a wedding for a couple that I know won’t last. It’s how my body reacts to the fact that things are about to get real and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

In almost any other time in history, I’d have considered being allowed to visit the White House to be an exceptional honor, even if I hadn’t voted for its resident-in-chief. (I did take a tour of it once, and even that was exciting.) It would be a distinct privilege to be able to voice my opinion to a sitting president.

But who am I kidding? This one wouldn’t listen. It would make me sick being in the same room with him. I’d actually be afraid to be alone with him. And I wouldn’t want to lend legitimacy to this farce with my humble presence.

So I’d probably decline the invitation and say I was doing so out of protest. But it would be more out of self-preservation on a spiritual level. It doesn’t pay to speak the name of evil, let alone shake its hand.

Mordor

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Once I was riding on a very slow and extremely crowded elevator. We all had our eyes glued to the floor number indicator, as you do. My mind wandered. I thought of something really funny that happened to a friend recently, and I started to giggle.

The tension rose with the elevator. People began to shuffle nervously. One woman clutched her purse. I thought, “It could have been worse. I could have farted.” That made me giggle even more. I was mortified. These poor people had no idea if I was mentally ill and about to act out, and they were trapped. With me. An unknown quantity.

There was nothing for it but to stand there, giggling nervously, until the elevator doors mercifully opened and our little pimple of humanity could burst forth as if it had been shot out of a cannon. I was crimson with embarrassment. But it was about to get much worse.

I walked into the job interview, and two of the people on the interview panel had been on the elevator with me. I tried to explain, sans the fart part, of course. I hoped it would serve as an ice breaker. But these people had no sense of humor.

I didn’t get the job. But in retrospect, that was probably for the best. As the occupants of that elevator can attest, I don’t thrive in uptight environments.

[Image credit: popculturepassionistas.com]

Come the Apocalypse, I Want to be with my Dog.

I have a new theory. The best possible thing that can happen when you are searching for a mate is a horrible first date, because then you can see how that person reacts under pressure. Stress separates the men from the boys. It cuts through all the surface bs and shows you what someone is truly made of. There are all sorts of ways of dealing with negativity, as evidenced by nature. All of these ways are legitimate, but only a few of them are viable in terms of a life partner in this modern world. Here are a few examples.

The Shark. In times of great tension, the shark will not only attack the source of the problem, but will also turn on anyone and anything that happens to be in his vicinity, even members of its own family. When in the midst of this feeding frenzy, the shark has absolutely no regard for loyalty, and does not care about who is on his side. When in the presence of this type of fury, there is nothing you can do except prepare to be eaten. Frankly, I find the shark to be tragic and self-destructive. And the most depressing thing about the shark is he cannot see why this type of behavior is a problem. Somehow being eaten will become your fault. You’ll never feel completely safe with a shark.

The Fainting Goat. Also known as the Myotonic Goat, this poor creature freezes in times of panic and keels over, thus rendering him utterly useless to himself or anyone else. I used to date one of these. Don’t ask me why.

The Turtle. When the sh*t comes down and you’re with a turtle, you are on your own. He will pull himself into his shell and wait for the boogeyman to go away. Oh, he’ll protect himself all right, but he won’t confront anyone or anything and prefers to live in a state of denial. He’s completely resistant to change, which makes improvement impossible. Also, if you come by his house and he doesn’t feel like talking, he simply won’t come to the door. Who needs that?

The Badger. No need to wait for a crisis situation when on a date with a badger. He’s going to be in a foul mood regardless, even if you could potentially be the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s never going to see it.

The Porcupine. Now, here’s a guy who is prepared. He doesn’t want to be messed with, and has made sure that he won’t be. The problem is, since all he wants is to be left alone, he’ll never let you in.

The Octopus. I have to admire this guy’s ability to avoid conflict. I like his stealth and intelligence. But if none of that works, he shoots ink. Do you want someone who’s going to throw stuff at you? No. That, and he tends to be clingy.

Frilled Lizard. You’ve probably seen one of these guys on the National Geographic channel. When you piss one of them off, the frill on their neck expands and they’ll chase you on two feet. Yes, they look intimidating and they get the job done for the most part, but honestly, what would happen if you stood your ground with them? Not too much, I suspect. I think you’d win that confrontation. These guys are all sizzle and no steak.

The Rattlesnake. The rattler is sort of a first strike kind of guy. He prefers to be the aggressor in anticipation of any possible antagonism you may or may not have in mind. Don’t hang out with the rattlesnake if you’re hoping for cozy get togethers with groups of friends.

The Praying Mantis. Honestly? Do you really want to hang out with a guy who is so desperate for sex that he’s willing to go there with you even though he knows he’s going to get his head bitten off for his troubles? This guy is so focused on what he wants that he has no concept of the consequences.

The Meerkat. I have to admit that I have a certain fondness for meerkats. They’re loyal. They’re family oriented, they’re protective, they’re cautious. But they’re also an emotional drain. They’re constantly anticipating trouble. They’re always on the lookout. Their watchword is paranoia. They never seem to relax.

The Benobo. Scientists have dedicated their lives to studying benobos, because these cousins of ours seem to be totally devoid of aggression. They’re the hippies of the primate world. They’re all about free love and live and let live. I could see myself getting caught up in this lifestyle, but I suspect I’d get fat and complacent, and years would go by without my realizing it.

The Dog. Dogs don’t seek fights, and in fact try to avoid them, but if you eff with them, they’ll take you out. I can respect that. They tend to restrict their aggression to those that deserve it. They’re loyal and protective, and usually generous and kind unless they’ve been abused. They’d much rather cuddle with you than argue, but they’ll do what they have to in order to protect themselves and the ones they love. A dog will always have your back. They also know how to heave a heavy sigh and release all tension. This, to me, is a very healthy and well-balanced approach to life. Yup, I’ll take a dog every time.

So next time you’re thrust into the dating world, pray for a flash flood or an earthquake or an armed robbery, because then you’ll know exactly what you’ve got on your hands. Disaster can save you a lot of time and heartache.