Paranoid after reading hypnotist Paul McKenna
I’ve started to form a growing fascination with self-help books, in particular those by hypnotist Paul McKenna, despite fears they may have me dancing like a chicken by the time the accompanying CD ends.
It actually started a year ago when I picked up on his promise to make me rich. Roll forward 12 months and I’m still bashing out words for a living but it has meant I’ve been able to afford a few more Starbucks coffees which should give the Chancellor’s coffers a boost.
In recent times, though, a few “issues” have led me to push finger and thumb together and enter a trance in a bid to control stress, lose weight, sleep better and quit smoking, the latter being the most successful of all since I’ve never lit a cigarette in my life.
But while part of me does wonder if the sleepless nights and weight are caused by those calorific coffees, leading to stress that I’ll never fit into my wedding suit, thus craving the cigarette I’ve never had, I actually think my hunch was wrong.
I’ve come to realise that the small amount of extra money generated by McKenna’s wisdom has also led to an Amazon addiction. And this in turn has induced much stress wondering where a certain delivery company is going to place the next parcel. It has, in recent times, turned into something of a not-so-fun game which has had us scouring bins, the side of the house, the inside of grids and the underside of stones.
The need to make money has become ever more acute due to the numerous calls made to Amazon to inform them of the said delivery problems (others have suffered too: thanks LEGO for being utterly brilliant and understanding and sending a replacement out in record time but boo to Yodel for chucking it over the fence and not telling us, leaving it to become a sodden mess of plastic and cardboard when we found it 10 days later).
Sleep loss has come when expecting a parcel to arrive the following morning and I’m eager to be up before the delivery driver tries another hide-the-present post-Christmas game. I can’t pin weight gain on delivery drivers (if anything they’re keeping me trim with the running around) and the cigarettes remain baffling but you get the general gist.
It’s just rather ironic that some of these parcels contain those McKenna books. Maybe that’s the aim. Or perhaps I need McKenna to write another book pretty sharpish. “I Can Make You Less Paranoid”. My order is placed already.
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