I Know Hypnosis Works
This story is crazy, funny and educational on the subject of self hypnosis; often what we believe is true seems absolutely real to us even when it isn't.
I hope my readers will understand if I choose to avoid becoming Lucy Ricardo; I don't want to have a lot of 'splainin' to do here.
Some of you know of the fist fight that almost happened in my life with my literary representative, Diana; we actually had a date and place set up before we came to our senses; she apologized and I accepted. There is peace between us once again.
But I don't think I've ever mentioned that if that fight had happened, it would not have been our first. Our first physical confrontation took place 23 years ago in New Mexico.
I don't want to wear myself out, and possibly bore my readers, by going into the extensive details surrounding this situation. So I will leave out why we were camped out near Roswell, NM in July of '97 (call it a vacation), what we were doing out in the desert in that very early Sunday morning (about 1-2 AM), why Diana got drunk and tried to steal my rental car, etc. Let's just say that's where we were and that's approximately what was happening.
This was actually the culmination of an argument that had been going on for about 3 days/nights.
The fight took place on a hilltop in the NM desert about 20 miles from Roswell in a heavy rain and lightning storm, big moon against the sky over a small lake, mud slides rolling downhill, a few diamondbacks and sidewinders in the mud, coyotes and other animals (jackrabbits, bobcats) running down from the hills, animals howling, wind screaming, little lightening bolts ripping their way through the night sky...and two angry middle aged blond women in party clothes (I in black organza, Diana in a diaphanous pink floral print) out in the moonlight bashing at each other in what pro boxing announcers like to call a "slugfest." The only significant thing missing from the scene was Quentin Tarentino with a good remote camera crew.
Here is, at least for me, the funniest and craziest part of this story:
I had gotten some help from a friend in Roswell with a fast sports car chasing a drunk Diana in my rental car,up and down a muddy dirt mountain road, finally managing to stop her.
Now, as my friend drove back toward Roswell, disappearing into the dark and stormy night, I faced the difficulty of prying Diana out of the rental car and then getting her into the other side into the passenger seat and making her stay there while I somehow got the keys away from her and took my place in the driver's seat. Not an easy task.
I opened the driver's side door, grabbed the keys out of the ignition and then yanked a screaming Diana from behind the wheel onto the ground in a lot more time than it took you to read these words. This is where I got hurt. Diana fought back by repeatedly slamming the car door on me from about my head/face to my knee level as we struggled. It took weeks for my cuts and bruises to heal. And my beautiful black party dress did not survive to attend another party, unfortunately, nor did her beautiful pink one.
Finally, after about 20 minutes of screaming struggle and bloodshed, I managed to drag Diana around the front of the car to the passenger door on the other side as she kicked, punched, screamed and protested with some very colorful language. I opened the passenger door, and shoved her as hard as I could into the passenger seat. As I buckled the seat belt she suddenly renewed her struggle and screamed, "Don't tie me up! Stop tying me up!!!"
I protested that I was not tying her into the seat (though it was starting to sound like a great idea!). She got even louder, started crying in fear and rage, as I repeated that I wasn't tying her down. I didn't even have any rope or access to rope. At one point I touched her leg and she screamed that I had tied her legs down too tight. I argued with her, but finally I "retied" the "ropes" around her legs. At that point I realized that insisting on my version of reality (no ropes) instead of hers (tied down firmly) might not be the best way to manage this situation. After all, if she insisted she was tied down and couldn't move, maybe I should encourage her point of view. So I began telling her how she couldn't move due to the ropes and fully restrained her with her own imagination, repeating everything she said. I watched her struggling against invisible ropes, convinced she was helplessly restrained.
Then I drove her back into Roswell and, after a while, back to the campground we were staying at. The camp ranger helped me get her from the car into her tent in the storm.
Later, and down through the years, the only "clear memory" she had of our rather dramatic and violent conflict was the part where I pulled out some pieces of rope and tied her into the car seat. The only part that never happened.
I still laugh when I think of going along with Diana's hallucination about the ropes that were never there.
The power of suggestion is not a feeble one. In some cases what we believe can become a reality.
I hope my readers will understand if I choose to avoid becoming Lucy Ricardo; I don't want to have a lot of 'splainin' to do here.
Some of you know of the fist fight that almost happened in my life with my literary representative, Diana; we actually had a date and place set up before we came to our senses; she apologized and I accepted. There is peace between us once again.
But I don't think I've ever mentioned that if that fight had happened, it would not have been our first. Our first physical confrontation took place 23 years ago in New Mexico.
I don't want to wear myself out, and possibly bore my readers, by going into the extensive details surrounding this situation. So I will leave out why we were camped out near Roswell, NM in July of '97 (call it a vacation), what we were doing out in the desert in that very early Sunday morning (about 1-2 AM), why Diana got drunk and tried to steal my rental car, etc. Let's just say that's where we were and that's approximately what was happening.
This was actually the culmination of an argument that had been going on for about 3 days/nights.
The fight took place on a hilltop in the NM desert about 20 miles from Roswell in a heavy rain and lightning storm, big moon against the sky over a small lake, mud slides rolling downhill, a few diamondbacks and sidewinders in the mud, coyotes and other animals (jackrabbits, bobcats) running down from the hills, animals howling, wind screaming, little lightening bolts ripping their way through the night sky...and two angry middle aged blond women in party clothes (I in black organza, Diana in a diaphanous pink floral print) out in the moonlight bashing at each other in what pro boxing announcers like to call a "slugfest." The only significant thing missing from the scene was Quentin Tarentino with a good remote camera crew.
Here is, at least for me, the funniest and craziest part of this story:
I had gotten some help from a friend in Roswell with a fast sports car chasing a drunk Diana in my rental car,up and down a muddy dirt mountain road, finally managing to stop her.
Now, as my friend drove back toward Roswell, disappearing into the dark and stormy night, I faced the difficulty of prying Diana out of the rental car and then getting her into the other side into the passenger seat and making her stay there while I somehow got the keys away from her and took my place in the driver's seat. Not an easy task.
I opened the driver's side door, grabbed the keys out of the ignition and then yanked a screaming Diana from behind the wheel onto the ground in a lot more time than it took you to read these words. This is where I got hurt. Diana fought back by repeatedly slamming the car door on me from about my head/face to my knee level as we struggled. It took weeks for my cuts and bruises to heal. And my beautiful black party dress did not survive to attend another party, unfortunately, nor did her beautiful pink one.
Finally, after about 20 minutes of screaming struggle and bloodshed, I managed to drag Diana around the front of the car to the passenger door on the other side as she kicked, punched, screamed and protested with some very colorful language. I opened the passenger door, and shoved her as hard as I could into the passenger seat. As I buckled the seat belt she suddenly renewed her struggle and screamed, "Don't tie me up! Stop tying me up!!!"
I protested that I was not tying her into the seat (though it was starting to sound like a great idea!). She got even louder, started crying in fear and rage, as I repeated that I wasn't tying her down. I didn't even have any rope or access to rope. At one point I touched her leg and she screamed that I had tied her legs down too tight. I argued with her, but finally I "retied" the "ropes" around her legs. At that point I realized that insisting on my version of reality (no ropes) instead of hers (tied down firmly) might not be the best way to manage this situation. After all, if she insisted she was tied down and couldn't move, maybe I should encourage her point of view. So I began telling her how she couldn't move due to the ropes and fully restrained her with her own imagination, repeating everything she said. I watched her struggling against invisible ropes, convinced she was helplessly restrained.
Then I drove her back into Roswell and, after a while, back to the campground we were staying at. The camp ranger helped me get her from the car into her tent in the storm.
Later, and down through the years, the only "clear memory" she had of our rather dramatic and violent conflict was the part where I pulled out some pieces of rope and tied her into the car seat. The only part that never happened.
I still laugh when I think of going along with Diana's hallucination about the ropes that were never there.
The power of suggestion is not a feeble one. In some cases what we believe can become a reality.
70-79, F
