Things About the Things and the Subarachnoid Space and C1 is Not a Dermatome and Hi and Dysfunctional Gaydar Blaring Pre-Central Gyri!
(Otherwise Known as "Things That Have Happened in Massage-Land Over the Past Couple Weeks")
- My mom came in for an aromatherapy massage last week. Of course, I fucked up a whole bunch of shit that I normally don't fuck up (forgot my bolster-placement and forgot a pillow-case for the face-rest thing). She apparently enjoyed it nonetheless, despite the fact that the office-folks had queued up some sorta of bizarre flamenco relaxation music that made it feel like a short man in a sombrero was standing in the corner, playing joyfully on his extremely tiny guitar.
- I scared both me and my A&P instructor by getting a 100% on my Physiology midterm. And apparently multiple non-100% test scores averaged with a 100% midterm score somehow = 100% (which is my grade for the class thus far). I am a bit confused as to how this is mathematically feasible (anything under 100% averaged with 100% would make the end result inevitably less than 100%), but I am just gonna chalk it up to his mad math skillz which (according to rumors) are as piss-poor as his spelling ("vigina!"). I mention the grade not to brag, but because my brain feels all creepy lately, like Rain-Man-esque or something. Like it's just stacking up all these little tiny notecards with random pieces of info all over the place in that little 3-lb. area and it just keeps flipping and flipping and flipping through them at random.* Quiet, brain. Quiet. Quiet, I say. In particular, it's been absorbing A&P information in this voracious manner like it's some behemoth black hole or some super-stoned frat-boy chowing down on Cheetos. I mean, I can almost physically hear the suction noise as the tidbit of info is vortexed into my brain and jammed somewhere into its recesses. It's a-starting to scare me a bit as it feels like when I speak I'm gonna diarrhea out some weird (but interesting) tidbit about the brain or spinal cord instead of normal human conversation. Or instead of saying Hi to some coworker in passing, I'm going to blurt out the name of a spinal segment and its attached nerves. Also daunting is the fact that I can now watch really bad crime investigation/medical-drama shows and actually recognize what they're talking about. Last night, one of Dr. Gregory House's henchmen said something about "the subarachnoid space" and I shouted, "I FUCKING KNOW THAT!" at my cats. They seemed unimpressed.
- I realized that I have to stop assuming people are gay when I don't know for sure. Even if they are flaming. I used to yell at people for doing just that, and yet I've found myself doing exactly the same, only to be proven wrong in both instances despite the fact that my "gaydar" was blaring. Flaming spa-massage fellow has a wife. I got to see her in a paper-bra. Gaydar is clearly clearly broken and/or needs new batteries.
- I also got to see my mom's eyes widen as the extremely-tattooed fellow in my clinic put his hands all over my shoulders and back while introducing himself to her last Thursday. I have finally gotten used to the fact that he is very touchy-feely in a (thankfully) non-threatening way, but it was TOTALLY worth it not to have warned her ahead of time, just to see her eyes half-bulge out of her head.
- I feel like I drank a lot of coffee in the past hour, but I totally didn't. *Twitching just a little and flipping through those notecards one more time*
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*LL: It reminds me of how you described when you were little trying to count all the cracks in the sidewalk (or lifting your feet up over them or something to that effect) as you drove quickly by in the car. I probably totally butchered the details of that tale, but I love that story nonetheless. *Flipping some more and shutting up*
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