A good friend broke his hand last night. How, you ask, did he accomplish this? Surely it was something noble, like rescuing orphaned nuns from a dragon! No. Ah, then it must have been something manly, like bare-knuckle boxing against Wolverine and his adamantium skeleton! No. I see, it was a freak accident of nature, such as a tree falling on his outstretched arm! No, it was none of those things.
He punched a couch.
What, you ask, did this couch do to offend his sensibilities? Nothing - the Blue Jays scored a run against the Red Sox. In his frustration, he punched a couch. The solid, possibly-adamantium part of the couch. Even better - the Red Sox didn't even lose the game because of this run - it was just a run.
Now, I'm someone who does stupid physical things when I get angry. I've punched doors, my refrigerator, I've thrown keys and remotes, I've punted a sheaf of papers...but I have yet to break anything - either a bone or a piece of furniture. But here's the rub - I don't feel any better after these little outbursts. In fact, I usually feel worse, because I feel so stupid about it (or upset that I have to pick up the papers).
I don't know why I do it. Sometimes I get the urge to hit things when I'm angry. I wish I could say that I will learn a lesson from my friend's cast/impending surgery, but I probably won't. No optimism today...
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Chris use to do that sort of thing until we'd been together for quite a while and I made him realize how ridiculous is it. You just have to realize and accept your anger...and handle in a less-agressive manner. It's really not that hard, I promise. When Chris and I get into it now, I'm completely tame. If he doesn't even try to understand my perspective I just say "ok, I get where you are coming from" and drop it until everyone is cool. I don't yell or kick and scream when I'm mad...but I do cuss a lot. Not AT anyone, though (unless it's another driver that can't hear me).
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