Monday, April 5, 2010

The Reposing Solution to Authentic Discomfort

The world of the traveler contains various aspects such as thrills, discomfort and much much more. But based upon my empirical evidence, I would say it contains more thrills than discomforts. And the discomforts that do exists are a pleasant form of misery which I would also classify as a thrill.

Recently, I engaged in a 12 day journey to southern South America. You guessed it, you clever literate being with legs, I was in Argentina and Uruguay. Two up and coming travel destinations for any cosmopolitan metrosexual or young urban profession (not that I am either one of those).

However, upon arrival back onto American soil, I noticed something rather alarming regarding my personal well-being. I had back pain. In fact, I had been having back for two weeks. This could have been due to excitement, ice cream consumption, copious mate drinking or some other mysterious component. After 12 days of thrills, I finally experienced discomfort as a result of travel

I had a good think and analyzed my previous two weeks; I deduced that the cause of this back pain was the bag I carried on my pilgrimage. But, any traveler (happy or unhappy) must carry something that contains necessities needed for traveling (toothpaste, bug spray, band aids, peptobismal and cute high heels). I chose to employ my hideous pink-green-purple-white bag with sequins that I got at the goodwill for $0.63, which explains why I could afford to take a vacation, as I do my utmost not to spend too much on things I don't really need (such as gnomes and Russian dolls).

Anyways, I carried this bag around for 12 days and put things in it such as doodads, my camera, some shoes, my wallet, my jacket and anything else I felt needed to be contained within this portal. Eventually my shoulders and back began to complain via their preferred method of communication: pain. I ignored it thinking it would go away in a few days like it normally does. But after experiencing the post-vacation blues for a week, the back pain was still there. At this point, I knew I had to do something extreme. Drastic times call for drastic measures. So, I did something I have only done one other time in my life--I got a massage.

I'm a working class girl complete with a cheap bag that causes back pain. I'm not part of the bourgeoisie class that enjoys earl gray tea, cured ham, jams and crumpets on any given Tuesday at 3:00. No, not I.

Massages are outside of my reality. I know they exist and I know that some people go get massages. But, not people like me.

So, with excitement and anticipation, I prepared myself to enter into the world of "people-who-get-massages," (like landowners and capitalists).

I am happy to report that I got a discount on the massage (as I was obviously a first time massage-receiver) and that the experience was a more than pleasant one.

As I was enjoying the massage, on a heated massage table, I pondered as to who composes relaxing massage music complete with waterfalls in the background and flute music.

Regarding massages I have this to say: a massage is something to be valued, cherished, and appreciated. Because I never ever get them, I have a deep and important appreciation for the art of being kneaded and rubbed by human hands, elbows and arms.

So, to all of my working class constituents, I do recommend you engage in the bourgeois act of massage-receiving. It is a great piece of happiness.

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