“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
