Streaming Obscenities and Flying Objects
I think I'm a pretty even-tempered guy. I don't get violent or aggressive with people. I am patient. But two occasions can make me see red: When I lightly injure myself and when I get frustrated while working with a physical object.
Just now, we were coming back from seeing The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and I pulled the car into the garage so close on the right side that Wendy couldn't open the door enough to get out. I went around to her side car to move some objects so she could open the door further. I picked up a bucket lid and accidentally knocked over a five pound bag of clay onto my big toe.
The pain sent me into a rage. I had a magazine in my hand, which I threw across the garage as I cursed and tried to walk off the pain. I had a bucket lid in my other hand. I threw that like a Frisbee about 100 feet across the yard while I strung together random expletives and shouted them out for the whole neighborhood to hear. I then went and grabbed the offending bag of clay and tossed it out onto the driveway.
Wendy, frightened, kept apologizing. I told her through clenched teeth, "It's not your fault." It wasn't. It was mine all along, and that--that--is the source of the rage. I don't know why. Self-punishment, I suppose. I get the same sort of reaction sometimes when trying to put together something from instructions...especially when it comes to instructions poorly translated from another language.
Oddly, I never get to that same level of anger and frustration with computers or software.
Just now, we were coming back from seeing The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and I pulled the car into the garage so close on the right side that Wendy couldn't open the door enough to get out. I went around to her side car to move some objects so she could open the door further. I picked up a bucket lid and accidentally knocked over a five pound bag of clay onto my big toe.
The pain sent me into a rage. I had a magazine in my hand, which I threw across the garage as I cursed and tried to walk off the pain. I had a bucket lid in my other hand. I threw that like a Frisbee about 100 feet across the yard while I strung together random expletives and shouted them out for the whole neighborhood to hear. I then went and grabbed the offending bag of clay and tossed it out onto the driveway.
Wendy, frightened, kept apologizing. I told her through clenched teeth, "It's not your fault." It wasn't. It was mine all along, and that--that--is the source of the rage. I don't know why. Self-punishment, I suppose. I get the same sort of reaction sometimes when trying to put together something from instructions...especially when it comes to instructions poorly translated from another language.
Oddly, I never get to that same level of anger and frustration with computers or software.
Labels: Wendy
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