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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Solve a crossword puzzle, and you've beaten the guy who made it up. In solitaire, you're playing against the laws of chance, and even that can become pretty boring. What I'd like to do is get out on the golf course with someone else and do my best and then lose. Honestly." "With a handicap...." the therapist began. Then he grinned weakly and stopped.
If I were you I would go to a speech therapist and get that cured. "Yeah, maybe I will." "Good. How much is it?" "Seven dollars. Should I cu-cu-cu-come inside?" "No one comes inside me, buddy. Wait there." She took her pizza and slammed the door shut. When she returned to the door she only slid a ten-dollar bill beneath it and fastened more of the locks. Conclusion of Sang Huin
This would logically indicate that the relationship between the therapist and the subject was the determining factor. The only trouble with this theory is that it does not explain self-hypnosis. On the other hand, we know that a strong interpersonal relationship is necessary for hypnosis.
Any good therapist could have done the same for you, and much more rapidly. Say in a few hours' hard work, spread over several weeks to permit progressive assimilation without conscious disturbances. The very interesting thing is that this orderly little process appears to have been going on all by itself. And that just doesn't happen. You disturbed now?" Trigger nodded. "A little.
These deeds are always completely justified; the sick person always claims to have been right for having done them and it is next to impossible for me as a therapist to get them to take responsibility for their sins. But at the deep, center of almost all people is an honest, decent soul that knows what it has really done and feels guilty and judges itself.
And what's worse, I know perfectly good and well that it's only half trying. The damned thing could beat me easily if you just turned that knob over a little more." "You're not competing against the machine, anyway," the therapist said. "You're competing against yourself, trying to beat your own record." "I know. And what happens when I can't do that any more, either?" Stanton asked.
George Yoritomo beamed, crinkling up his heavy-lidded eyes. "Ah! A talking clam! Excellent! How much longer does he have to cook?" "Twenty-three minutes, why?" "Would you be so good as to return at the end of that time?" The therapist opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said: "Sure, Doc. I can get some other stuff done. I'll see you then. I'll be back, Bart."
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