Short notes from the week. Nothing important, that's the point.
Blocked out an hour for a regular who books every Tuesday and then just… didn't come. So I sat in the treatment room with the lamp on and ate my lunch there like a weirdo. Not the worst hour of my week, honestly.
You can tell who sits at a desk all day before they say a word. It's always the same spot, right where the neck meets the shoulder. People think they need a new mattress. They need to stop holding their breath at work.
Nobody warns you that the walk from the car to the door is enough to redo your hair. I've given up. Air dry, tie it back, move on with the day.
Woke up before the alarm, made coffee, didn't touch my phone for a whole hour. Felt like I'd stolen something.
Six clients back to back. My hands were done by four, and I still had to walk the long way home because the light was too good to waste.