"Focus on your body and picture it in your mind", the book said.
Shawn tried a method he had seen in a movie. He tried to picture a blank black slate, and then put an image of himself on it. He couldn't do it very well, though; stray thoughts kept bumping in.
He heard distressed talking downstairs; his mom was hearing the news. Sound carried very well in the house, and it snapped what little concentration Shawn had.
John threw the book across the room and slumped down. He had no wall behind him, so he just laid down on the floor -- as well as he could with a tail pressing, unwelcome, against his back. His huge foot-paws stuck up awkwardly. Life sucked.
"I just want to go to sleep again." he murmured to himself. "I just want to wake up normal."