The Mind Is The Master. Control Your Mind, Control Your Life. Thank You.

Sins walked out of the washroom feeling the lightest he had felt in years. He swigged a couple of gulps of warm beer and opened his laptop to begin working on a presentation that was long overdue. Finishing the beer, he decided not to go for a refill, but then, remembered he was out of bottles anyway, so he couldn’t have drunk even if he wanted to. Calmly, he opened his fridge, only to find it empty, except the packet of unopened bread that had been lying there for a few months. He would not touch that anytime soon.

On his way back, he plonked down on his sofa, and tried to sleep, his mind serene with useless thoughts about the pleasures of life, imagining himself having sex in the middle of a jungle and then dancing around a bonfire like the native warriors of bygone eras. He had watched a motivational video on YouTube last night, where the narrator had advised and reassured the viewers that good things were coming and happiness is not the end goal, but rather a by-product that stemmed from enduring moments of struggle and hardship for a dedicated cause. Sins liked what he saw and heard, feeling good about the whole theme, before settling down to watch documentaries which highlighted the effects of climate change and how people ought to care more for each other, especially in today’s day and age of open-mindedness, rather than closing off just because someone had different opinions about some key issues like religion, ideology and how life should be led.

He wanted to possess the drive, the drive of accomplishing, learning and applying new skills to new things, like the sheer adrenaline rush that enveloped him when he would be competing against a team of footballers with his own, each side determined to overcome the other within a set of defined rules and regulations. He wanted to astound himself, bracing himself for a monumental change in his lifestyle that he hoped would catapult him into the top percent of high flying achievers. Thinking so, he jumped out of his sofa, lunging himself towards his open laptop desperately, suddenly feeling as if he had a very short time to live on the planet, and it would be sad if he would be left with presentations to complete, that too presentations to be made for someone else’s deal rather than his own. Heck, he would get deals of his own.

Three hours later, much to his astonishment, he was done, having come up with nice campaign ideas that, at least in his head, sounded great as far as the client was concerned. He had done his best, so saying, he clicked send on his Gmail, wildly imagining for a moment about writing obnoxious things on the mail body and hoping there were no untoward errors like residue left behind from another client’s marks and images. It was sent now, he plonked down on his sofa again, his thoughts drifting again towards having sex, this time against a backdrop of a giant waterfall, surrounded by lion couples doing the same, and the whole group arising as one and twerking towards the waterfall, from where confused monkeys and rhinos guffawed incessantly from the top.

He tried to resist the urge of heading out to drink beer, maintaining that if he delayed gratification now, the struggle would make him feel grateful later, in the form of having clearer thoughts. He would drink occasionally from now on, seeking to control the substance rather than the other way around. He decided he would learn something new, and the thought kept floating around the periphery of his mind, lying still, as if hoping he would forget about it or change his mind. He tried willing his body to move and obey the command, but it wouldn’t. With each passing second, the thought grew louder, as if imploring him, beseeching him, begging him to do something constructive for once, move out his comfort zone and accomplish something, anything, anything. He just lay there, firmly fixed on his sofa, thinking.

Finally, he woke up. And headed out to get beer.

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