Massage

So I'm all tense. Stress, here is thy sting. My back and neck are frozen, which adds joy to the patellafemoral (whatever..) syndrome thing in my knees and has me walking like a rabid duck. What to do? Massage. Sounds like a real good idea. In theory. Then I start looking for one - one who is available right now - and the fun begins. Seven centres later I'm now sitting here typing - still ouching, still seized up - but now with the knowledge that a) massage therapist operating on their own don't seem to have receptionists, b) massage therapist operating out of chiro clinics don't seem to share their shedules with receptionists, c) massage therapist operating out of flower shops don't have seem to have anyone to answer the door and d) (my favorite) massage therapist operating out of warehouses sometimes have spooky porno music playing. Loud. I did not even knock for D, let me tell you. So I'm home with the ice, I've swapped volunteer nights with tomorrow, and am madly considering cleaning my house. I won't do it, but the thought is certainly there. And a friend I was talking to today said I couldn't have my now sadly evening port until after my massage, so I feel compelled to NOT drink on account of her. Perhaps if I switch to merlot I'll still be honouring the implied contract...