I dont break stuff nearly as often in real life as I do in my head. Sometimes I think I should.
Sometimes days just dont go right, and sometimes they go spectacularly wrong Sometimes, theyre just another in a series of days that are just as frustrating as frustrating as the frustrating one before it and even more frustrating one before that. Or you hit an extra special one thats just about as frustrating as trying to thread spam through a fruitloop.
And on these days, at the worst moments in the worst minutes of these days, you just really, really want to trash something. Throw something out of the window. Kick something over, scream out loud. Run your arm along a shelf, fling breakables at the wall, jump on something pleasantly destrucable.
But you dont. Because why? Because youre grown up. And sensible. And breaking things doesnt help and doesnt change anything or actually make anything better. So you dont. You just dont.
And then you wonder if one day youre going to rip a traffic light out of the ground and start batting whole buildings and stupid people into the sunset with it. And you decide that you should always wear stretchy clothing, because youve seen the incredible hulk, and not only was it not a deeply unflattering look, but also quite expensive, wardrobe-wise.
And then you start thinking it might be safer if you maybe just broke stuff every now and again. Because youve never looked good in green.