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Today’s semi-philosophical question is: Is awareness always a good thing?

This occurs as a result of some other day’s semi-philosophical question: Does serendipity exist? Yesterday morning as I was chatting with Syd before taking him to camp, he mentioned that he has to keep a movement journal there. As he carries out his day, he is supposed to notice how his body feels and how he holds it. He wrote that he holds his breath until the end of a sentence when writing (He will develop some serious lung capacity if he emulates Faulkner.).

This coincided with a treat I gave myself, a massage. Actually, I’m a little leery of massage anymore because for a while there, bad things happened to me whenever I got one, like the time the kids and I were cruising to Alaska with my folks and my dad was in charge of T.R. while I was getting the massage and I got out and T.R. was lost… Anyway, the massage got to all the places in my body that are tense. I am used to having a few of those spots where when the lovely massage person of my dreams presses down in just the right way, it hurts awfully because there is so much tension to release. I had more than I expected this time around. One was obviously at the base of my neck, where I have large muscles developed entirely by squeezing them whenever anything becomes even vaguely stressful. But between my shoulder blades? At the front of my calves? Just below my hips? Next to my spine in my lower back? In my forearm just below my elbow?

I feel all the happy little droplets of lactic acid, now broken up and waiting their turn to cycle out of the body. I think someone might have taken a baseball bat to me while I wasn’t looking.

See, now that I’m aware of my body, I have to do something about it. I caught myself slouching in the car today and made myself sit up straight. Last night as I was trying to go to sleep, I made myself unclench my shoulders. I’m a little stressed about it.

More than when I didn’t know it was that bad.



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