I’m still all achy and feel yukky. My whole body just feels out of synch with itself. My skin is too sensitive. My neck hurts. I’m so tired -but I can’t sleep for long. And I’m cold, just cold.

It brings to mind other times I’ve felt this way, years ago. Back when I was married to my second husband, John David. (Not his real name.). John David was a fixer. He was an HVAC guy so he could fix those kinds of things, but also lots and lots of other things. (I’m sure I’ve talked about him before, if this all familiar, feel free to just skip on to the next blog, right?)

Anyhow, John David is the one that was into systema, a Russian martial art, and he fixed my knee, which I’d been having trouble with for many years before I met him. Fixed it so that I’ve not had a major problem with it since then, at least ten years ago. Those two facts – systema and my knee – are not actually connected except in my head.

He used to tuck me in bed and get me a glass of water.

He was an interesting and sweet man, until he started drinking and by that third year, he was drinking all the time and I had to go. Or he had to go, since we were in the house I’d lived in for many years before him,

But I used to feel like this sometimes and when I did, I’d whine around about it, kind of like I’ve been doing here, and then he’d say, “You need a massage.” The first time he said that I was enthusiastic. “Yes, yes, I think you’re right. I do.”

But when I felt like that, it was not the sweet, tender massage with oil that I had grown to love. I quickly learned to ask, “Nice massage or Mean Massage?”

The mean massage was actually just a deep tissue massage, (not sensual or particularly pleasant, it’s more ouch-y) along with some trigger point massage (that’s when they dig their thumb or elbow into a muscle until you think you’re going to come up off the bed screaming, but when they stop, all the tension in that area just – drains – away…). He’d do that thing where they thwack you and karate chop you and it would just about take my breath away.

But when he was finished – I felt better. Not achy or crappy. I felt energized. I’d get up and do stuff. Go to work. Do the dishes. Whatever.

Before I met him, when I felt like this, it often ended up being the prelude to getting sick. A bad cold, a sinus infection, some virus. But his mean massage would – well, it would nip it in the bud. Thinking about that back then really made me rethink my beliefs about illness and how our bodies work, you know?

I wouldn’t want to still be married to John David, but today I’m kinda missing the mean massage. So I’m going to have a hot toddy and take a hot bath and go to bed. Cause I got serious shit to do tomorrow and no time for this.