The Valentine’s Massacre

You might think I am talking about the famous gangster slayings. You would be wrong.

Nope, I am talking about the massage that has laid me up for a full week. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a full week and a little more.

My poor DH feels soooooo bad. He gave me the lovely token of his gratitude on the Sunday before Valentine’s day. Monday morning I couldn’t move anything from the bottom of my shoulder blades up through my neck. The spasms were so random I was taking Vegas action on them. I would be sitting and suddenly all the muscles between my shoulder blades would start firing. Every time the children came near me I feared for their safety.

As I could get little else done, I started working on the Nanowrimo draft. Typing, though, ended up being a REALLY bad idea. Hence, the long gap between Blahg postings (that’s my story and I’m sticking with it).

I had a lovely visit with my Chiropractor, and a half an hour of rolling and stretching with Kristin, the Wonder Trainer. By the end of this past weekend I was actually starting to feel pretty good.

Then, today, I forgot that I was still resting the tender muscles and picked up my almost nine-year old to give him a squeeze and a cuddle. Oh yeah, not one of my more Einstieny moments.

Now my recently not too unhappy shoulder blades are screaming muscle obscenities at me every time I move. I guess it was a blessing that my therapeutic massage to fix the massage got moved from Monday to Thursday.

I don’t see any more amateur massages in my future. Sigh.

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