Sunday, December 28, 2014

Anger Management

No matter how old you are, when you get really pissed off, there's nothing more satisfying than channeling your anger and frustration into the destruction of an inanimate object. I realize there are people who do this to animate objects, such as fellow human beings and animals. These people are called psychopaths and sociopaths and they belong in prison. 

For the rest of us, though, tearing up a book or a deck of cards; smashing a remote control against a wall; or bashing a Caboodle (tm) brand carrying case onto the wooden floor of a cabin at sleep away camp will do just fine. I know, because I've done all of these things and enjoyed each one immensely!

Once when I was about 12, I lost a round of the card game "spit" to my aunt. I fuhhhreaaked the fuck out and proceeded to tear up each and every card and throw the tiny little pieces up into the air, letting them rain down on my head and the carpet while stomping my feet and screaming and crying.

Fast forward about 10 years, when I was studying for the LSAT and failed to get a single logic "game" right on my first practice test. I guess I couldn't figure out what happened when six blue horses put on four red saddles and galloped into seven green rooms. But I knew it meant I wasn't going to Harvard Law School. So what did I do? I buckled down and studied harder. Just kidding. Come on. Of course I didn't do that! I tried to tear up the book, but it was too thick. So I sort of crumpled up parts of it and tore other parts out and threw them around every corner of my boyfriend's apartment while he looked on in horror and confusion.

Flash back about 3 years, when someone I had wanted to be my boyfriend while working as a counselor at summer camp had other plans, so I took my Caboodle (tm) carrying case and all of its contents (Q-tips, lip gloss, hair brush, lotions, etc.) and slammed it as hard as I could onto the floor of a bunk I shared with ten eleven year-old girls and two other counselors (one of whom had successful designs on my not-boyfriend and was therefore at least half the source of this epic tantrum). It was a beautiful thing to see that Caboodle crack into several pieces and everything in it go skitter-scattering across the floor and underneath cots, never to be retrieved.

Nowadays I don't throw tantrums that are quite as passionate, and I haven't had one in awhile. But when I do, they usually involve malfunctioning remote controls, which are especially fun to throw against a wall because the batteries go spraying about the room in a most dramatic fashion. 

What's my point? My point is that anger management is for pussies. Take a good look around you and take stock of the inanimate objects within arm's reach. One of them might make a handy and satisfying target for annihilation in the event of a future tantrum.

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