The last few times I have visited my massage therapist, I’ve come out feeling slightly better and slightly worse. Slightly better because whatever ailment I had has been mashed and twisted to a pulp. Worse because, well, I’ve been mashed and twisted to a pulp. And I know that I’m suppose to tell her if it hurts too much, but most of the time the pain is temporary, but the result is more long lasting. It’s one of the good pains.

Today, however, I think I should have said uncle. Today, I think I might bruise.