Express trip to serenity . . . derailed.

So I don't usually say, "I'm just so busy", to anyone because I think it's a crock of hooey.  Generally, everyone has busy lives with lots of events and details to keep track of . . . to say, "I'm just so busy", makes me feel like my "busy-ness" is more important than everyone else's.

However, right now, life is kicking my butt and I'm pretty busy. Work, kids, end of school, start of new school, visitors, traveling, birthdays, exercise, you name it, it's happenin' now in the Sandy crib.  Hauling around kids, bags, laptops, running, working out and entertaining major work stress-bombs has my head screwed directly on to my shoulders and my back all twisted in angry Shawn-hating knots.  Thus, I decided to take some time out for a massage this week.  

So, here I am, at the spa, anticipating a wonderful massage, almost giddy with the expectations of how I'll feel afterwards.

An adorable woman walks up to me and whispers, "Hi, I'm April, follow me.  Do you need to use the restroom?"  I answer, "Um, no", and she takes me to a warm, candle lit room with a lovely fragrance.  Whispering?  What's with that?  I thought it was a little, um, OVERKILL, at first but as she whispered me instructions about disrobing and asking where I needed work, I sort of melted and fell in love with April.  I wanted to put her in my pocket and take her out to whisper to me in her soothing voice throughout the day.

Anyway, as I said, the room smells soothing and lovely and there is the unmistakable "spa" sound of pan flute and syntar playing in the background.  Soothing as it may be, those sounds always conjure up images of man-goats or odd mythical things, which, under any circumstances, I'll admit, would be a rather "unsoothing" encounter.

Again, I digress, after Adorable April whispers out of the room, I peel off my work clothes and climb up on to the table and wriggle under the heavy cotton blankets to wait for my mega relaxation bonanza to commence. 

I close my eyes and begin to focus on turning off my mind and embracing the serenity so I can loosen up and get the knots out of my back. 

Oooooh, this might be so easy.  The weight of the heated blankets on top of me and the heat from the table under neath me feels sooooooooooo nice.  Mmmmmm, I think I know how the cheese feels inside a quesadilla.  Relaxing might be easier than I thought.  I feel all melty and liquid.  If Adorable April were to press a spatula on me, I'd ooze right off the table.  She has slipped in and does not, in fact press me with a spatula but begins her deal-e-o by gently pressing her hands down on me in the blanket--tucking me in like a newborn in the nursery so I'm warm and secure before she begins.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 

Okay, time to focus on some sort of peaceful vision.  Must focus to keep the noise of work and my Outlook Calendar from "knock, knock, knocking" on my flippin' relaxation.  Let's see, something beautiful . . . how about the sweet smiling faces of my children.  Sophia with her chocolate brown eyes and sweet pink lips.  Oh, okay, that's nice.  Just focus on her little, "TICKLE ME TICKLE ME, TICKLE TIME MOMMA!"

Wait, okay, how'd that get in there.  Let's switch it up, Jakey Snakey, puddin' pie.  Oh, his sweet little face is always smiling.  I could look at his baby blues and smell his little head all night.  I want to inhale him into my soul when I rock him at night.  Holy Cow, "I'm somebody's Mom!"  Wow, why does that always come as such a shock to me?  I have two little people--I didn't order them online or buy them with PayPal.  What an odd concept, if you think about it.  You don't really own anything else that came to you with random selection that has individual traits and characters that can be totally independent of your influence.  Yes, I realize I don't "own" my children, but that's besides the point.  "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit".  Such a good saying . . . Thanks, Mrs. Eisenbraun for that one.  Gosh, Sophia uses it all the . . .

CRAP--okay, back to focusing on relaxing.  What is Adorable April doing?  I explained to her about my back.  Surely she'll get to the back soon.  My hand is actually fine and I could give a cracker less about having my forearm massaged.  Come on April, I don't want to tell you what to do, or how to manage your time, but seriously, I'm on the express train to serenity here and it's all about the back.  We only have an hour to achieve this here.  Ack.  This is killing me.  Can we just get to the back.  No, Shawn, stop.  She's a professional and I'm sure she'll spend the appropriate time on my back.  I mean, she's got the whole whispering thing going for her so she surely knows how long to calculate per body part.  They probably teach from some sort of body part chart in massage school.  "Okay, 1 minute per hand, 5 minute shoulder, 30 seconds on the temples . . . "  Just friggin relax and focus on something peaceful . . . tap, tap, tap, "Okay, let's go ahead and turn over now," says AA.  Cool.  I do the awkward naked twist and flip and am ready to get to this glorious back massage.  

Okay, focus, Shawn, focus, focus, peaceful thoughts, FOCUS on all the soothing things around you!  Raindrops.  I've landed on raindrops.  The sounds of raindrops have replaced the Pan flute playing goat band.  I do love the rain.  It is rather soothing sounding when it splats on the concrete or driveway.  This rainsong IS rather relaxing.  It reminds me of standing on the deck of a cabin in the mountains listening to the splat, splat, pit, pat, plop, sizzle, sizzle of the rain.  Or bacon.  Truly, this rain could very well pass for the sound of frying bacon.  Hmmm.  That's funny.  Did some Foley artist stand at a pan of bacon with a microphone capturing its sizzle and spitz and call it rain?  It could still be a very relaxing vision--standing on the deck of a cabin in the mountains listening to the rain as I wait for my bacon to fry and my waffles to fluff up.  Oh yeah, that's my special vision of serenity.  Rainy mountain waffle bacon song, take me awayyyyyyyy!  


Ha, I remember those Calgon bath commercials.  Maybe I'll follow up this express train to serenity with a hot bath tonight.  Last night's bath didn't make a dent in the knotsapalooza back situation.  It did, however give me nicer to venue to shave my legs.  I wonder how often people come in with prickly barbed wire legs?  Is she so professional that she doesn't even notice?  I've taken for granted it's a professional courtesy that you shave your legs before a pedicure and a massage.  Who could focus on massaging human hedgehogs into relaxation when . . .  tap, tap, tap--{AA whispering}, "Okay, you're all set to go, take your time and I'll have a nice glass of water for you when you are finished getting dressed."  


What the . . . ?  Did I fall asleep?  Seriously?  I fell asleep during the glorious back knot kneading bonanza?  How . . . but . . . I don't . . . Aaaaargghh!


Well, crap.  My express train to serenity . . . derailed by rainy bacon panflute goat man playing unshaved leg thoughts.


Nice.  Only in my brain.  Only in my brain.