I sit at the computer way too many hours a day, and I forget to get up and walk around as often as I should. My neck, shoulders, and back bear the burden of my poor decision to just keep working.  When I do finally get up and stretch, sometimes it eases the soreness, and sometimes it doesn’t.

If I’ve gone past the point of no return, I pick up the phone and schedule an appointment with Ping, “my” Chinese massage therapist.

I love Chinese massage. It’s sort of a mix between deep-tissue massage, reflexology, and utilization of pressure points. It’s exactly what I need when I’m sore. 

Ping and I do experience a communication problem though.  His English isn’t very good, and my Chinese consists of “hello” and “thank you.” That wouldn’t be bad since you do want quiet during a massage…. but if you have a question it can be a problem.

Last week I had an appointment with Ping. He started out by having me lay on my stomach so he could work on my back. When it was time to turn over, once I got settled, I glanced up at the ceiling and saw a small-dark-something.  Right over my face. Like if it fell, it would land on my nose. Or mouth, which would be worse. I asked Ping what it was. He looked at me with bewilderment, and I pointed to the small-dark-now-scary-something. He just chuckled. …. You know how sometimes you sort of just smile or give a small chuckle when you don’t understand what someone is saying but want to be polite? 

I said, “It looks like a bug,” and he just smiled, again, with the little chuckle, again, and started working on the knots in my neck.

I tried to relax. I really did. But I kept opening my eyes, just a little bit, every few minutes, to see if the bug had moved. It hadn’t. The whole last half of my massage consisted of me trying to relax but finding myself willing that bug to just MOVE.

When Ping was done and left the room, I jumped off the table. I grabbed my phone, turned on the camera, and zoomed in on that scary thing.

I wish I would have known, during the massage, that it was only a screw, that had been driven through the ceiling tiles. Half of a good massage… wasted.