OK, so maybe I’m not a saint; I knew there would be trouble when I chose the worst student in class to partner with for the Swedish Massage eval next week. And yesterday her casual and sloppy hands across my nipples was more than a little disconcerting. And maybe her sharp long fingernails raking on my rhomboids did draw a little blood. I figured that she’s got to get better as we practice more.
Baby Jeezus needs a tissue now. Today, during our practice, I worked on her just fine, and then it was her turn to work on me. She doesn’t have the sequence memorized, and let out around one third of the strokes, and of the rest, many were in the wrong order, or strokes that aren’t in the sequence, like the deep thumb pressure under the clavicle. Ouch!
At least she cut her nails like I had asked (demanded). She’s going through menopause, and her emotions are all over the place, and I could tell that she was not feeling it for this session. Yet, she needs the practice, so I let her touch me. Poor me. I could feel her frustration building as the session went on, and it was all being transferred to me. When I got off that table, I was so angry and upset that the top of my head could have exploded. But I instead of venting to her, I went outside and took some air, then I came back and calmly discussed it with her.
We have two more practice sessions before next Thursday’s eval. Oh, gawd, but I need a drink! Where’s the gin and tonic when you really need one?
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