Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Oooh Baby, I'm Hot Just Like An Oven

I fell asleep during acupuncture today. It's my third session of it, and I'm obviously learning to relax. We start each session with a Q&A about how I'm feeling, and what I've been eating (she pronounces all of her verbs in italics). She talks about damp heat a lot (and italicises both words. I'm not even sure that's allowed). "I feel great!" I breeze. I came to her a month ago when I was recovering from a month-long battle with cystitis, having gone through three doses of antibiotics and a subsequent bout of candida. Now that I'm cured, I have no need of her witchcraft and am worried about extricating myself from our relationship without hurting her feelings. I tell her I've been eating lots of green things, then I take my tights off, lie back and think happy thoughts while she sticks pins in me.

Once she's got them all in place, she turns on the pan-pipes CD and tells me to relax for twenty to thirty minutes. Then she sits in the corner and reads her book, while I lie there, trying not to move. The first week, I managed it by counting the pan-pipe songs. Four minutes apiece, I reckoned, so five of them and I'm done! I had to count them on my fingers, because they all sounded the same, and the pins in my hands and wrists made the maths uncomfortable. Not very relaxing.

The second week, I was determined to relax. So I drifted off into a smutty reverie. It was very relaxing. I didn't even hear the pan pipes. Afterwards, I pulled my tights and sensible cardigan back on and asked her if she had an appointment at the same time sex week. "Monday?" she said brightly, and my cheeks reddened at my freudian slip.

This week, I was determined not to relax quite as much as the previous week. So I lay back and listened to the fucking pan pipes. Some five minutes in I woke with a start, jumped like I'd been shot and squealed as the needles I was so liberally stuck with skewered me. In my head, hands, feet, thighs, shins, stomach, and pubic bone. It was very relaxing. "Are you okay?" asked the acupuncturist, perhaps thinking she'd given me epilepsy. "I can't feel the front of my calf!" I squeaked, temporarily forgetting what my shin was called. She made some soothing noises, fixed me up, switched on a heat lamp to keep me docile and went back to her book. I lay rigid for a further twenty minutes, terrified to unclench lest I drift off again and jerk awake. It wasn't really very relaxing. But I'm booked in again for next Monday.


beatingmyselfintoadress said...

Invent an unfortunate job loss and tell her you can't afford it anymore?

Would you try reflexology or something instead, might be more relaxing than getting stuck with pins! Shudder!

emordino said...

Start screaming at her that she's the tip of the iceberg of a multibillion industry that preys on the weak and credulous, trash the place, dump a bucket of pig's blood on her, and run out the door. She gets to feel like a martyr, you get to stay at home in future. Simples.

Annie said...

Am I imagining things or are you doing that thing that Gimme does when you make your post titles with song lyrics?

Or do you actually say "oooh baby" in real life?

Rosie said...

wonderful suggestions, Karen and Colm, thank you. i was thinking of having Andrew call her to tell her i'd faked my own death.

you're not imagining things, Annie, but i stole the idea from Conortje. "oooh baby" is not one of my catchphrases, but i'll submit to most things on request.

Tessa said...

I'd rather have acupuncture in my eyeballs than listen to the fucking pan pipes. Be careful; escaping the clutches of these new age harpies is harder than breaking up with a BFF.

Rosie said...

apparently next week she's putting them in my ears, Tessa. which can only be a good thing, right?

Au Lapin Blanc said...

Whilst I really enjoyed this post, I enjoyed discovering someone else who understands the importance of a 'sensible cardigan'

I hope you are feeling better m'dear

Conan Drumm said...

I hooted at this, and the image of you like a voodoo doll at the mercy of your witchdoctor with her pin papes. Then I got to think of the ailments and it occurred to me that tights are contraindicated, or so I'm told.

demurelemur said...

A month of cystitis? A fucking month? Jesus.

Maybe she'll let you bring your own music if you ask real nice. Tell her that you find it difficult to relax unless you can create a safe and harmonious aural environment. Then stick on My Dying Bride or Cradle of Filth. Soon she'll be the one finding excuses to extricate herself from the pin cushion party

Rosie said...

thank you, Rabbit! i actually went and got the same one Christina was wearing the night of the party you missed. you know the one. with the roses.

you're right, Conan. thankfully i'm hale and hearty again now, or at least i will be once i find a way to dump my therapist. here's another one to make you hoot, courtesy of Colm: Find your ideal alternative therapy!

it's an idea, Lemur, but i think i'm better off just breaking up with her. like an adult. once i figure out how exactly to do that.