Chop therapy

Feeling blue? Down? Depressed? Like you're ready to kick a puppy or punch a loved one in the throat, or maybe stab your mailman with a butter knife because he refuses to get out of his freaking truck and insists on cramming your mail into the mailbox until it resembles something the dogs chewed on? Then might I suggest taking your handy dandy ice chopper and hacking the living sh*t out of an ice covered walkway until all blind rage and pent up frustration is expelled and you can calmly walk back into your home without fear of your children telling their grandparents, "See this hole? This is where mommy sits and bangs her head while she sucks her thumb and hums to herself"?

It's highly satisfying.


You've heard of talk therapy, right? Well, this is Chop Therapy. I recommend this to anyone who is seconds away from heading up a clock tower with an automatic weapon. Or if you just don't want to clean up another broken dish.

As much as it pains me to admit it, I can be downright violent when pushed to my limit. I throw things, punch things... Basically, I just like to hear things crack and shatter. So chopping ice that was at least an inch and a half thick in places was exactly what the doctor would have order. If I actually saw a doctor.

I'm sure I put on a damn good show for the neighbors - lots of grunting and violent stabbing with ice chopper in direction of my feet. About a fourth of the way through, a man and his dog drove up and parked at the end of the street, presumably to take a walk in the woods. If I were a paranoid person I would have sworn he sat there and watched me flailing around for awhile before heading up the trail. Come to think of it, I am slightly paranoid and now I'm pissed because he totally should have paid me for the pleasure of watching me go bat sh*t crazy. Better than the price of admission to see Slumdog Millionaire, I'm telling you.

I would have chopped more but my shoulders were killing me and pieces of skin were starting to spontaneously jump from my hands. Also, my back was screaming, "Cut it out, you stupid bitch." And when my back starts yelling obscenities, I am inclined to listen.

It left me with such a high that, if my kids nap for awhile, I just might go back out there and chop some more. Which leads me to think - what the hell am I going to do when spring comes?

Guess I'm going to need some more dishes.