I found a random pink pill in one of my bags and took half. It's been an hour and I can't exactly what it was, although it was definitely a depressant...
At work today I had a guest come back and see me for a final service before he flew out. He's a talkative and fairly charming guy, easily star-struck and a bit "Aww shucks." He was telling me about his daughter and how she needs him to play with her hair and stroke her face before she falls asleep every night. He said he begs his wife for the same treatment but she says her hands get too tired.
So, for the last 20 minutes of his appointment, I stroked his face gently and played with his hair. I didn't necessarily do massage moves, I just intuitively did what I think he needed. He fell asleep fast, almost curled up on his side.
It was so intimate that I felt moved to write about it. When the hour was up, it dawned on me that he would be paying for that experience. I think sometimes we book services like massage, facials, even nails and haircuts and we don't go because we need our muscles unwound or pores extracted. We just need another caring human to nurture us and to let us feel perfectly safe. My heart grows bigger every time I am able to move another person to feel loved and nurtured.
Now I'll sleep.
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