No More

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***This post contains coarse language and isn’t meant for very young people or those with a delicate sensibility.***

Had a massage appointment yesterday. I’ve been seeing the same massage guy for five years, so we’re pretty confortable with each other by now. In the morning, I told my husband I really wasn’t looking forward to Massage Guy (MG) telling me all about what I should be doing.

Husband: “What do you mean?”

Sara: “He always has suggestions and he has some sort of correction for me. I’m always doing something wrong. Last time he told me I wasn’t exhaling properly when doing deep breathing.”

Husband: “Just tell him.”

Sara: “Yeah, I dunno.”

Completely exhausted, I drive across town to the massage office. When I enter, he asks how I’m doing.

Sara: In an effort to give MG a heads up, I say, “All my fucks are gone. I have no more fucks to give. I’m exhausted.”

MG: “Well, yeah. You look really tired. Have you been doing your exercises?”

Sara: With a withering look, “No. No, I have done some basic stretching but that’s all.”

MG: Shaking his head, his body language tells me I’m not being good at being broken. “Okay, go ahead and get on the table. Holler when you’re ready.” It’s a one-man office, so a holler won’t bother anyone.

After massage has begun, he asks about what I’ve been doing.

Sara: “I’ve been doing counseling. She holds me accountable with my short-term goals between visits and it makes me anxious.” Now, I’m thinking this heads off incoming suggestions since I’m actively participating in counseling, which MG has been reommending for some time.

MG: “What else?”

Sara: “Nothing.”

This is MG’s opening. “There’s an online course you’d probably find interesting. It’s about taking care of your neck.”

Sara: “My neck is full of severe osteoarthritis regardless of anything I do, and I took a six week course neck class at a physical therapy office a while back.”

MG: “Yeah, well that’s probably a long time ago. This one is only $49.99 and there are packages you can buy for chiropratic visits.”

Sara: “I have no more fucks to give. I don’t give a fuck about paying to take a class when I probably know it all by now anyway.”

MG: “I’m really just talking about mental stimulation, doing something.’

Sara: As I’ve told you repeatedly, “Writing my blog is my creative outlet. I read other blogs also, and that’s mental stimulation.”

MG: “Yeah, but…” Why does no one take blogging seriously? Only if money is made?

Sara: Interrupting and on the edge of tears, “I told you I got nothing. I can’t start a new thing. You may not have noticed but I’m kinda fragile right now,” with tears falling.

MG: “I get it. I’m just trying to suggest things that might make you feel better. You know the people around you just care about you and don’t want to see you hurting.”

Sara: “I don’t give a fuck.” As the conversation continued, I gave that answer a few more times. Then my people-people pleaser self offers up how I’ve ordered pictures to add color to my room. I justify that I set up in my room because I have an incredible view of forest and the mountain in the distance. If I sat in the living room, I’d be uncomfortable in the furniture and my views would be the houses and street out front as well as our deck in back. I explain all of this. Why? Because other people’s discomfort with me causes me to be uncomfortable.

Our conversation turned to other things, thank goodness.

As I made my way out the door, MG made one more effort, “I really do want you to move out of your bedroom. That’s my opinion.”

Sara: “Yeah, I get that but you know what? I don’t give a fuck.”

Side note: I could do a whole post about others being uncomfortable with me setting up daytime home base in my bedroom. To make friends and family feel better, I should sit in the living room. The seating is uncomfortable and the view sucks, but people will feel better about my situation if I do that. What the fuck? I should just tell everyone I sit out there, for fuck’s sake. Oh, right. I don’t have any fucks left to give about making other people comfortable with my chronic illness and pain. I release that responsibility.

Published by Sara Z

Writing is one of my passions. Most blog entries are relatively short articles regarding a wide variety of topics. I'm a middle-aged wife and mother of two adult sons. I've been a teacher, counselor, medical transcriptionist, student teacher supervisor, substitute teacher and retail clerk. Staying home now due to fibromyalgia. Seeking purpose.

5 thoughts on “No More

  1. I’m impressed you didn’t tell MG to shut the fuck up, and go fuck himself while he’s at it. My massage therapist doesn’t talk to me, except for a few words at the beginning at the end. It’s perfect.

    I spend 95% of my life in my bedroom. It’s comfortable, and it’s where the guinea pigs are.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. He does great deep massage in all my muscular knots. That’s worth a lot. If I tell him I want a quiet session, there’s no talking. Gotta do that more. In a weird way, It does my heart good to know there are others living a bedroom life.

      Liked by 1 person

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