I took a deep breath and began to formulate my argument. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for my father's insistence. That he was willing to pay for my session was beside the point.
"Always sinking deeper and deeper down."
Years ago my father took me to a hypnosis show, he clucked and woofed on command. He was the most popular person who made it to the stage. The hypnotist liked him so well, my dad got asked to be part of the regular show. Even now, some twenty years later, each time he hears a doorbell he growls just a little. He claims not to do it, but I know better.
"We are going to go to a beach resort. The sun is bright, the temperatures are perfect, and nothing distracts you from relaxing and enjoying yourself."
Forty-one. Forty. Thirty-nine.
"May I call you Sam?" he asked.
Sure. You can call me whatever you want, sweetcheeks. "Actually, it's Gabe."
"Sorry, Gabe. Now that you are deeply relaxed, we can work on your allergy."
I don't now, nor have I ever had an allergy. I just break into the hives every now and again.
"According to your father, you have problems with certain words."
I have problems with the same words everyone else does. Really. Words like: fired; overdrawn; speeding ticket. I nodded. It was easier than out and out agreement.
He muscle tested me on a few words: commitment, married, monogamy. All came out fine. Then he went to engagement, wedding, and pregnancy. Not only did I respond the way he expected, but the hives I'd been suppressing in my upper lip came to full bloom and inflated beyond reasonable safety limits. I looked like a duck. A sad copy of a duck.
"Remember that these are just words and have no intrinsic value on their own," he said.
Right. If he kept talking, I'd need to go to the ER soon.
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