Monday, February 2, 2009

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.

14 comments:

motherbumper said...

I'm knitting you a punch bag for the thaw... who's face do you want on it or shall it be interchangeable?

When I get mad, I have to get out and walk. Walk forever. Sure, these days I have to do it with a stroller or sled in tow but it's all I can do to avoid the dents it the walls.

SciFi Dad said...

What about wood splitting? You could get a cord of wood delivered to your place, haul out an axe and flail away at the logs on a huge stump.

Then, next winter you'd have firewood and could save on energy bills: it's win-win.

Heather said...

We don't actually have concrete to do that on. Our driveway is dirt. Darn it. And the sidewalk to our door is only about 2 ft long. Bummer.

Kate said...

I took it out on a tree stump over the summer. It lost. I felt great.

Ericka said...

how i keep from killing people? i break china. really. go to goodwill and to yard sales, buy cheap, ugly, this deserves to die china and save it. pick a good wall - basement walls are good - brick, concrete, rock - none of that drywall shit, put a cardboard box against your wall to catch most of the shrapnel, and let fly. it feels so good!

be careful not to pick up any stoneware. i almost had an aneurism when i threw it into the wall and it bounced. i ended up destroying the damn thing with a hammer.

Major Bedhead said...

When I was in high school, I worked at Friendly's. They used to serve the hamburgers on these oval plates with a red band on them. When I was good and pissed off about something, I'd open the back door, off the dish room, and launch plates across the parking lot.

I miss that.

I think I need an ice pick.

And that song Break Stuff, by Limp Bizkit, is very therapeutic to listen to when I'm in a mood. Because I don't have that many dishes right now....

mo-wo said...

Yes. It is taking shape. The Church of Mrs. Chickology. Soul over matter.

sounds good... and noisy.. and satisfying and DUE.

work it.

Fairly Odd Mother said...

Gardening m'dear. No cute little flower patches, but really get in there and plant stuff that requires you to move rocks out of the soil and weed and tie things to stakes and spray with water and scream obscenities to the deer eating your precious shoots. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

Lynette said...

OOh...I remember when I lived in the snow. It is GOOOD therapy. It was either that, or murder my husband. Luckily, nobody minds you chopping up ice/snow.

Mary G said...

A reel lawnmower.

Suburb Sierra said...

I want to know what the guy thought when he emerged from the woods and saw you taking a picture of your masterpiece?

Be careful - I'm *just* able to stand up straight after the last ice storm because I threw my back out. But it was so addictive as those big chunks came up off the driveway...like peeling skin after a stupid sunburn.

mothergoosemouse said...

I used to work in a bookstore. Mass market paperbacks aren't returned to publishers; they're "stripped". You rip off the cover and then grab a chunk of pages and tear them down the middle. Incredibly satisfying.

Erin said...

Oh, that would be so amazing right now...too bad it's almost 80 degrees.

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