The Universe is conspiring against me. I think it enjoys me being stressed.
I booked a massage and consultation with a new-age, massage,
whole food, Mother Earth, Plinky Plonky whale music, organic hemp wearer today;
only to be told (after driving 30 minutes up the road and messaging her to see
if it was still OK), that she was sick and had to cancel.
She told me this after appearing from a garage (like Mr
Ben). I guess front doors are
over-rated?
Shit happens, I guess.
At least she wasn’t claiming to be clairvoyant and didn’t see it coming.
Boom Tisch!
A couple of things:
How is it that I end up consoling HER telling her that it’s
OK and it’s only me and not to worry (she was crying because she felt ill –
WTF? Man up love! I’ve got 3 kids. I haven’t felt ‘tickkety boo’ since
1996! Do you see me moping into my
Tetleys?)
You’ve come over from Bali (where you split your time). Bali is hot, tropical, humid. Perth is currently in the midst of Winter with
single figures overnight. Why are you
still dressed in flimsy MC Hammer pants and a singlet?? May be book a consult with me where I tell
you to harden the fuck up and put on a jumper!
And SHOES possibly? You’re ill
and you’re standing talking to me outside a garage wearing next to nothing and
you wonder why you’re ill?
I now don’t know if I want to rebook. Will your massage oil be mixed with nasal
dripping? Not a pleasant thought. Will my pressure points actually be triggered
by your rock hard nipples accidentally?
Why didn’t you come through the front door? I don’t want a massage in a garage!
I keep trying these things.
Time and time again I put myself ‘out there’ looking for the key to
unlocking my stress and turning off the chatter that is constantly in my
head. Why!? I’m not a hemp-wearing tree hugger. I find it hard to clear my chakras. My purple light of protection needs a new
bulb. I snore during Reiki and scare
myself awake. I still have flashbacks to
the hypnotherapist and her ‘turd’. You’d
think I would learn.
I drove home with all the above ping-ponging around in my
head, and then I saw a sign. Overtaking
me was a battered Ute with the numberplate ‘No Stress’ towing a trailer with
the numberplate ‘Stress’. So I guess
that’s what I need to do – metaphorically unhook my trailer and drive away
leaving all the shit behind.
I got home to a poorly teenager and then got a call from the
school to collect Number 2 son as he was also ill. I guess the timing wasn’t right for me to
relax.
There’s always next year.
I will make a cup of tea (VERY un-Herbal) and re-watch Eat,
Pray, Love whilst eating crap.
My body
is a Temple (of Doom).
