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.
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.
