that I dont have to do this again at least for another four years. This blog post, which is slowly materializing out of the pain-shrouded mist in my brain, is a distraction as I teeter somewhere between the abyss and instant enlightenment through suffering. Think of well-meaning doctors armed with saws during the Civil War. All across the darkened room, which reeks of camphor oil, I can see people intertwined in various postures. Whatever Lucy has done, it worked. Women with robotic hands strengthened over years of repetitive massage knead muscle fibers like putty. They inevitably end up back in the pub a few nights later. As she helped me up, I was expecting to float back to the lobby on my cloud of new energy. As far as I can tell, we are nearing the end. Here I am again. As she lumbers around me on the mat like a polar bear, I cant help but look past the half-pulled curtain and envy my neighbor who has an attractive, size-zero massage therapist using pencil-thin fingers on his neck. Thai massage requires the bending and torquing of joints and limbs beyond their natural range. The old woman took such pleasure in giving foreigners pain that I was afraid she would look up my family one day mafia-style to give them massages, too. Satans own torture handbook couldnt compete with this stuff. Inspirerande inlägg från sökord från. My hour passes languidly. At least this time around Lucy, my thirty-something masseuse, is a total sweetheart. The last time I remember this strange, tingling sensation of healing welling up from deep in my body was after getting acupuncture at my Shaolin school in China. If Lucy presses down with all of her weight, she has the potential to pop me like a grape. Det är ju bra det med fast även om det där inte riktigt har med "lyckligt slut" att göra men jag tolkar det så och så var det med det haha. How did I end up here?