I hate my job.
Today in massage school my instructor asked us, How many of you are here because you hate your job.
No one raised their hand. Not the hair dresser, not the Uni San Diego graduate who works at some unidentifiable tech company, not the absent Richard who made his numonic name Richy Rich (beacuse he wants to get rich.)
Oh, said our instructor. That is a surprise.
But i am not there beacuse i hate my job. The fact that i hate my current shithole of (part-time) vocational timesuck has nothing to do with why i am participating in massage school. I have no inkling of buissness, i dont feel that i will leave with my 200 hr certification and knowledge of swedish massage with an tongue wagging after green, wheeling my table to knead the fat cats on the central coast. Rather i feel that my skills will reside more quietly until someone, probably my father, forces me to charge people so for rubbing their feet, ears, back and neck.
So why do i go to this expensive, legitimate massage school?
i like to be touched.
Other people that like to be touched:
i wish i was there for this moment: