Everyone needs a punching bag
I know I could do with one right now! So I can get the angst of late out of my system once and for all. So I can eat and sleep and live my life in peace.
*PUNCH* *KAPOW* *RIGHT-HAND HOOK* I feel like beating into a pulp some people I know who simply and thoroughly deserve it. I thought I was past my angsty, dissatisfied, teenage years. But evidently, there’s this angsty teen in all of us, only as an adult, you know better than to let it show too much.
Some might call this anger and the need to prove everyone wrong and yourself right as "determination” or “drive” but call it what you like, cause I’m calling it “The angsty teen in me.”
So in an attempt to remain civilized, all these feelings get bottled inside. And I imagine the huge lump I often get in my throat when I’m stressed as a plug that stops it from spilling out. These emotions boil up dangerously close to the surface sometimes, and the urge to scream: “IDIOTS! MORONS! I QUIT! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! YOU CAN DO YOUR OWN #$%@& DIRTY, STINKY WORK!” is just on the tip of my tongue.
And after that, I always picture myself stalking out of the room to the swelling, opening music of Shanghai Bund. But what the heck, who am I kidding. I won’t do it. Not because I lack the guts. But because of personal principles and I don’t wanna be labeled a quitter. (See, told you it wasn’t drive!)
So what do us sad, sad adults do? Simple.
Just yesterday, I was having this violent toungue lashing session with a certain obnoxious someone in my previous life as a lowly fresh-graduate. That person was cowering under a table as I lashed out eloquently with my wonderfully laser sharp words. That just hit -- leaving gaping wounds of raw, bloody flesh -- at where it hurt the most. Only thing is, it was all in my head and I was in my car creeping slowly along, stuck in the usual rush-hour jam on Federal Highway. Blissful nevertheless, if only for the duration of the car ride. Then I just started feeling a bit stupid.
Sometimes I try denial therapies like ‘Sleep for 12 hours’, ‘Watch 6 back-to-back episode of Grey’s Anatomy’ or ‘Chain-eat Hershey’s kisses’ and these work too, for a while. And then something just will happen to awaken the suppressed beast of rage again, if possible, more overwhelmingly ferocious than before.
Yesterday night, I tried a new therapy: punching a real-life human punching bag. That felt good though my knuckles (and my punching bag) hurt after that. Thank you my dear, LAD!
And perhaps writing this now is therapy in itself. Thoughts without words are intangible and hard to understand. But if the thoughts can be described, perhaps they will start making some sense soon.
*PUNCH* *KAPOW* *RIGHT-HAND HOOK* I feel like beating into a pulp some people I know who simply and thoroughly deserve it. I thought I was past my angsty, dissatisfied, teenage years. But evidently, there’s this angsty teen in all of us, only as an adult, you know better than to let it show too much.
Some might call this anger and the need to prove everyone wrong and yourself right as "determination” or “drive” but call it what you like, cause I’m calling it “The angsty teen in me.”
So in an attempt to remain civilized, all these feelings get bottled inside. And I imagine the huge lump I often get in my throat when I’m stressed as a plug that stops it from spilling out. These emotions boil up dangerously close to the surface sometimes, and the urge to scream: “IDIOTS! MORONS! I QUIT! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! YOU CAN DO YOUR OWN #$%@& DIRTY, STINKY WORK!” is just on the tip of my tongue.
And after that, I always picture myself stalking out of the room to the swelling, opening music of Shanghai Bund. But what the heck, who am I kidding. I won’t do it. Not because I lack the guts. But because of personal principles and I don’t wanna be labeled a quitter. (See, told you it wasn’t drive!)
So what do us sad, sad adults do? Simple.
Just yesterday, I was having this violent toungue lashing session with a certain obnoxious someone in my previous life as a lowly fresh-graduate. That person was cowering under a table as I lashed out eloquently with my wonderfully laser sharp words. That just hit -- leaving gaping wounds of raw, bloody flesh -- at where it hurt the most. Only thing is, it was all in my head and I was in my car creeping slowly along, stuck in the usual rush-hour jam on Federal Highway. Blissful nevertheless, if only for the duration of the car ride. Then I just started feeling a bit stupid.
Sometimes I try denial therapies like ‘Sleep for 12 hours’, ‘Watch 6 back-to-back episode of Grey’s Anatomy’ or ‘Chain-eat Hershey’s kisses’ and these work too, for a while. And then something just will happen to awaken the suppressed beast of rage again, if possible, more overwhelmingly ferocious than before.
Yesterday night, I tried a new therapy: punching a real-life human punching bag. That felt good though my knuckles (and my punching bag) hurt after that. Thank you my dear, LAD!
And perhaps writing this now is therapy in itself. Thoughts without words are intangible and hard to understand. But if the thoughts can be described, perhaps they will start making some sense soon.
Because if all else fails, I might just have to resort to the Neanderthal practice of beating the crap out of anyone who ignites my wrath.
posted by N.J.A.P.F. @ 2:22 PM
2 Comments:
At least you have a punching bag hor :D
Wii understands the feeling, thankfully Wii has short-term memory so that idiots who manage to irk us to that kind of extent are forgotten...
...probably within a week.
janvier: Good for you (and the idiots)! Hell hath no fury like a women angered, methinks. Hehe.
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