I was going to write about donuts today (if you ask me, donuts are like manna from heaven). However, I’ve just had a massage, and both my body and my brain are as limp as a wet noodle. I almost wrote biscuit -- I tend to mix my metaphors. Once, when talking about handsome movie stars, I chimed in with, “And what about Paul Newman? He’s no spilt milk!” I believe I intended to compare Cool Hand Luke to small potatoes.
Anyway, my massaged brain is feeling delightfully quiet and calm. The only time I ever really have a massage is when I’m on vacation, and I’m already pretty relaxed then, as relaxed as, well, as relaxed as can be. Why don’t I have massages at home, when my brain is in overdrive: ideas and thoughts speeding around in there like the racetrack at the Indy 500, jockeying for position as it were.
Mental note: have more massages. They leave me feeling as happy as a clam with a bone.
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