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September 24, 2001
broken water maine
I have returned from Maine.
I made the trip sober and alone having recently separated from my wife of 23 years. I missed my friend, my lover and my companion. I also missed my wife.
I had a massage from a Maine earth-mother type named Donna. I have had cancer screenings with fewer inquiries than Donna's pre-massage questionnaire. Donna earnestly warned me that the massage might trigger a "release" and that tears might flow because of something called "cell memory." This is a departure from the warnings given by my Cajun therapist, Chantel, who cautions that her massages sometimes trigger what are called in the business "boners." In any event, I got the distinct impression that these releases are, for the New Age masseuse, a kind of Holy Grail. Like the insurance defense lawyer who dreams that his cross-examination will cause the plaintiff to admit that, yes, he is a sack-of-shit and has been feigning injury all along.
As it turned out, I shed nary a tear and experienced no release. Perhaps my cells have sustained trauma to their tiny heads and suffer from amnesia. Curiously, this is just fine with me.
© 2001 by the beastmaster