vindice

So, yesterday was the big deal, the showdown, the culmination of a year's weekend college-attending and two weeks frantic writing of scripts. I'd downloaded crib sheets from other therapists, raided every book on the course reading list, and spent hours weighing up metaphors, inductions, cues, anchors, double binds... I'd taped myself and cringed at my own amateur theatrics. I'd practised answering Frequently Asked Questions without seeming patronising. On Tuesday 1st of August, my future as a hypnotherapist lay wholly dependent on the hours between two and four o'clock.

So kiss my ass!


You know, studying hypnotherapy makes you continually aware of the therapy that other people need. Take Mel Gibson, for example. Poor Mel, I do feel sorry for him. Just as you can't blame a child for their upbringing, nor can you blame a man for the deep-seated prejudices instilled in him at an early age that no amount of conscious reasoning can shake. Mel knows it's wrong to be anti-semitic and I believe he wants to not be. But oh, how he betrays himself when he allows his subconscious to the fore!

I shall take out an advert in the Yellow Pages. "Improve Your PR with Inner Conflict Resolution."

Er.

...aaand coming back to the room now, all normal sensations returning, and focusing once more on the mundane. I've dyed my hair again. It's a nice shade of dark red, but boy does it need a cut!