I can't handle anger in others, I have to disengage and depart.

I can't handle anger in myself, either. I can deal okay when I get annoyed, irritated, or frustrated, but I got angry to the point of rage once, a very long time ago, and the memory terrifies me. I don't know which bothers me more, the loss of control or the willingness to do harm, but I want it never to happen again.

Oh my god, I can't stand being around couples who are nasty to each other in front of other people. Snarky is fine, like I said earlier. But actual nasty comments, cutting remarks, insults -- no fucking way, man. Don't be in public with each other if you can't act like grownups.

Word. She gets so OFFENDED when M expresses that our house is "fun" and thinks it's because it's all video games and cheese puffs, all the time. I guess she misses the part where I make him do crazy chores like dusting and making his own bed (that he's never done there -- "We have a maid!") and makes him do his homework. He liked staying here so much because his dad and I are consistent, relaxed and logical. I'm actually a killer disciplinarian, but I'm not an ANGRY one. He knows I mean what I say, and that I won't flip out. I'll follow up on consequences every damn time, but I'm not angry about it.

And D and I never, ever, are nasty to him or to each other in front of him. (We're not nasty to each other when he's not here, either.) We have disagreements in front of him, but they are small and model compromise, listening and respect. I figure he needs to see how grown people work out problems without nastiness or yelling.

Some days I want to go to a flea market and buy old dishes for change, so I could smash them, but I would have to clean them up, which seems less cathartic.

Maybe get a cheap dropcloth first?

Since we're in an apartment, breaking dishes isn't really a thing I can do right now, though a dropcloth is something to remember.

Tenderize meat?

THWAP THWAP THWAP

Once I had to get started on dinner when I was still pissed, and I ripped apart a chicken carcass with my bare hands. It was very primal, but it was a good thing I was making soup.

When I'm in a better mood, I always stick my hand up the chicken butt and make it dance and sing when I'm rubbing the inside with spices.

I heard on the radio a few years ago that somebody had done a study to see whether people actually felt better after breaking dishes (I think it was specifically breaking dishes, but it was seriously years ago and I am not sure of the details, and I may be conflating it with a report about a place that was basically a pay-to-break-dishes deal) and found that they did not. Venting generally not effective, was the conclusion, as I recall. FWTW

When I'm in a better mood, I always stick my hand up the chicken butt and make it dance and sing when I'm rubbing the inside with spices.

That's an image that's going to stick with me.

I think D and M seriously questioned my sanity the first time they saw it. But the cook makes the rules!

I think D and M seriously questioned my sanity the first time they saw it. But the cook makes the rules!

Apparently the cook also makes the entree her bitch.

I'm INTERACTING WITH and HONORING my entree. Jeez. I always sing a thank-you to Mr. Chicken!