I had my first hot stone massage. Ever since I moved to Charlotte, NC a few months ago, I must have passed by the Urbana City Bar and Tea Spa a hundred times and wondered what it was like inside. I finally found out. It's like a peaceful paradise. The minute you walk in, the lights dim, the music calms, and the sleek, sparse decore begs you to relax. I was offered a bottle of Voss water -- I love those bottles, some how it just tastes better drinking from that snazzy bottle -- and I sat down on a couch, propped my feet up and filled out my paperwork. I marveled at the line-up of a thousand teas (which may only be a slight exaggeration) and daydreamed about spending my lunch hours there over the next few months. I stared up at the overhead light, a beautiful piece of architecture that doesn't blind, but rather soothes. The top shelf was lined with an array of ceramic tea kettles of muted colors and varied shapes and sizes. I wanted to move in.
Shortly thereafter I passed through the heavy bead entry way into the little tranquil room where my stones were heating. The heat relaxed my tense muscles and insisted that I slip away into another world, in spite of my brain's insistance that I remain hyped up and preoccupied with my frustrations and worries. I slipped in and out, finally more out near the end.
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