{there's a thin line between a wild time and a flat line}

It turns out I'm dying.

I know, I know. We're all dying.

It's just that I'm actually dying at a significantly faster rate than the rest of you.

Seriously. It's really quite tragic.

I'll tell you the story.

One day a month or so ago I was at a health and safety fair reping the Camp Kesem. Because you know, that's all I do these days. There across the way was a man. My fundraising gal pal was there with me and really wanted to talk to him, but being girls we couldn't go alone. So I went. He put one hand on me and knew EV-A-REE-THING about my sleeping habits. And other such not so important things. It was like what the what?? Then he likened life to Ammon and I. Was. Sold.

So we made an appointment and went to see the man the next week. He did a little of this and a little of that and a little of his hands up my shirt and a little of twisting my neck around in such a way that I had to question him if this was actually good for people (last time I checked I wasn't Emily Rose. If you know what I mean) and was still telling me stuff about myself I didn't even know. Ok, so I knew it. But he shouldn't have. Unless he's been peeking through my windows late at night. Creeper Alert? Possibly.

Remember how my anxiety level is through the roof? In case you forgot: it is. However, I woke up the next morning and didn't quite know what to do with myself. It was like pure euphorian bliss. (I'm not really sure if all of those things I just said are real words, just roll with it). At work I didn't want to kill everyone that I looked at. Which is kind of a big deal. Infact, it was quite a pleasent day. I promoted Bishop Withers Positive Mental Attitude approach which actually pissed some people off but we all just went with it. Like, I had never felt such a feeling in my life. I knew I had to see this guy again. So I called his joint up and made another appointment. This time he took pictures. Wanna see?

That faint black line up there is where he drew out where my vertebre should line up. 

Ouch.

It's felt about as good as it looks for the last 20 years or so.

Here's a secret: I really enjoy popping my neck. I have noticed in the last 198 hours (because that's how long it's been since I last did it) that it is a stress/anxiety induced habit. But I've been strong. You should be proud of me. He is. He even told me that I should be proud of myself too, that pride wasn't always bad and then went on to quote this.

I'll let you in on something else. He has taken it upon himself to be my new spiritual guide as well. Physical and spiritual healing for the price of one? I'll take it. We've had a discussion (and by discussion I mean he talks, I try not to roll my eyes listen) on this topic more than once.

AND he's got me doing 5 minutes of positive self talk everyday PLUS reminding myself I am Happy, I am Centered, I am Grounded.

This guy is the whole package. The real deal. The Dalai Lama of chiropractors.

But I prefer to call him my shaman boyfriend.

Don't tell anyone but I defo may have just FaceBook creeped on him. Oh Brother.

Tomorrow I'm going to Texas. Don't be jealous.