What my brain is saying and seeing while on the massage table.
Alternately titled: Showing You My Weird.
That's a lot of oil.
Like an oil slick.
Exxon Valdez.
I'm the Captain now.
I never even saw that movie and Jill has me saying that.
Should I go to Pier One after this?
How do they keep from dropping the oily hot stones?
What is that noise?
I think Pier One closes at 9.
No one should close at 9.
I think Pier One closes at 9.
No one should close at 9.
So thirsty.
That noise is my breathing.
Darth Vader breathing.
The massage therapist probably thinks I'm suffocating.
The massage therapist probably thinks I'm suffocating.
Think relaxing thoughts.
I am in a meadow.
The hills are alive with the sound of Griswold.
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Machine Gun Kelly. Machine Gun as a nickname. I can't imagine it.
I wonder if anyone has the nickname Slotted Spoon.
I hate Atlantic City.
I hope I don't fart.
That's like...the international shared thought to have during a massage.
My feet are like hooves. Pedicure time.
My feet are like hooves. Pedicure time.
Relaxing thoughts relaxing thoughts
I'm on an island.
Islands in the stream.
I'm glad Kim and Steve picked that song.
Baby when I met you there was peace on earth.
Give peace a chance.
Yoko Ono's singing is terrible.
Baby when I met you there was peace on earth.
Give peace a chance.
Yoko Ono's singing is terrible.
Stream of consciousness.
Thoughts darting like tiny minnows
I should make this a blog post.
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That's what I remember from my Tuesday night hot stone massage. My brain goes crazy for about 10 minutes then goes into an almost sleep-like state for the rest of the massage. Stream of consciousness is interesting. And funny. And really weird. And light enough for Friday.
So, here we are.
Happy Friday, happy last work day of January (I originally said day, thanks Tara for helping a sister out with the calendar!), and happy weekend! What are you getting up to?
