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“No thanks, am not really into getting my Chakra’s aligned, I have just recently relocated my ovaries thanks” I said to the hippy looking woman who boldly sported a shock of white hair.
She was younger than me but was brave enough to resist Wella number 5 hair dye, am just not ready to ‘come out as grey’ some women can carry it off and their families accept them being grey, not for me, am staying in the Wella number 5 closet.
I don’t look sexy and natural with grey locks; I look like I might milk goats & live in a static caravan site or have walked off the set of a Dickens show set in Newgate prison and am the old woman with two days to live.
This hippy grey haired woman Desdemona (I swear that’s her name or she changed it on Twitter or something similar) met me in a cafe and immediately decided I needed her help getting my aura and chakras sorted out. I really needed a cup of strong tea and a bacon roll.
“Do you have headaches and trouble with your stomach?” she asked sagely as she gripped my hand and massaged between my thumbs and forefinger, making my stomach hurt. Doesn’t everyone have headaches and stomach pains? Come on they must do eh? But her eyes were imploring me to agree with her about headaches and stomach cramps; I stared at the woman making bacon rolls.
The constant massaging on the web between my fingers was making me quite violent.
Turns out Desdemona used to be called Sheila and had been a fish gutter in Aberdeen till she met a bloke at Glastonbury who gave her an ‘experience’. Am not sure if what he did was consensual but she seemed to like sharing her skills. I got up and walked away- starving and determined to get my roots done.
You see I don’t mind ‘alternative therapies’ but there are some I would avoid – like getting hot stones stuck to my back, somehow that reminds me of the shit my big brother used to do to me when I was 7 years old in the sticky summer days in Glasgow.
Some women love spa therapies and it helps them unwind.
They way I relax and it is truly better than any spa ever, is hanging out & staying with my best pals Monica or Shirley. We can lie on the sofa, eat nice food, talk shit for hours and shout at the telly, then sleep for ages and wear nothing but sloppy clothes and not bother to wash hair or wear make-up. Just having great one on one time with my pal and talking, debating, arguing processing issues that bother me is so amazing and ultimately relaxing.
Good pals are better than alternative therapists or personal life coaches. Good pals tell the truth about you horrific dress that you think is lovely, they also refuse to let you leave the house with that eye shadow you think is ‘on trend’.
Good pals can resolve sexual, marriage and career issues better than any single mantra filled nut-job who charges for every single piece of faux advice they batter out.
There’s a bloke I know who pays a shed load of bucks to a life coach who had previously worked with astronauts at NASA- he loved telling me this fact- as the coach apparently personally helped those chosen moon walkers to gain the wherewithal to fly into space.
I asked him “what did he do? Point at the moon and say- go there?”
He was really annoyed and said ‘to fully get the best from a life coach you had to be willing to give yourself up to fate and face the challenge’. That’s what every single newborn does naturally when he slips from the amniotic sac and faces life, isn’t it?
The reason am banging on about this subject is- I have decided to lose weight and try to get myself fit and everyone told me I should get myself a personal trainer, full time nutritionalist and motivator. I don’t disagree and had a great chat with a bloke from Kaizen Fitness in Glasgow and this month and am not ruling it out. But firstly am going to see if I can possibly try to do start it on my own. As at the end of day, if I can’t make myself do it, trust me nobody else will.
If you have any diet, help and advice or like me pretending to be a life coach occasionally follow me on Twitter @janeygodley
