I’ve been thinking about sloth, greed and pain these past couple of days and what part they have played in my life.  These internal musings came about as I was having my feet massaged by Mrs H – a giant German reflexologist.  Mrs H pinned me with her baby blues, pressed into my arch and said ‘make pain your friend ya’Ya well, pain has not been my friend but he is my constant companion.  Do you think if I made friends with pain – he’d fuck off and leave me alone?  If you’ll excuse my French.  As much as I wanted to write off Mrs H’s piece of advice as New Age mumbo-jumbo, I do believe she has a point.  Pain in all its forms is a signal that something is wrong.  Instead of making pain my friend, I have spent the last thirty years ignoring pain, shoving it away, covering it up, pushing it down until it seems pain had no choice but to stick a WHAT-WHAT in my BUTT-BUTT (if you’ll excuse my French) for me to sit up and take notice.  The interesting dilemma now is how to make pain my friend when I hate the bugger with a ferocity I don’t think I have ever felt for anything or anyone?

On a happier note, I am now officially six kilos lighter and today a big black man massaged my boobs.  Mrssss Mouuuunnnaaayyeeer is feeling fine – OH YA!


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