Once, a long time ago, I dismantled a coffee table with my feet.
The table belonged to a particularly no-good boyfriend who drifted in and out of my life for a number of months. While we’re friends now (he was no good at being a boyfriend, but he is a talented poet and performer), the break-up was hands-down the ugliest and most extended I’ve ever been through.
He had a couple of pieces of cheap furniture in my house and was moving them out. I was very, very angry (something to do with the cheating or general stupidity and jerking around), and I started kicking his cheap coffee table until it was nothing more than a pile of metal tubing and hunks of fiber-board top.
This is not to say I’m prone to violent outbursts of this type–this is the only instance I can remember of this sort of behavior on my part–but lemme tell you, it was pretty darn satisfying. And right now, I’m feeling a little of that same satisfaction as I whip off one of the last big checks to my credit card company.
OK, so the company isn’t going to end up a broken pile of rubble on the floor (thanks in part to the generosity of the government with my and your taxpayer money), but every time I get a little closer to paying it off, it feels like another SLAM! and another piece of that cheap table goes flying, and I mutter a curse, and I get a little happier about the whole situation and how it’s going to be finished.
In a way, a credit card is like a bad boyfriend. He seems fun and you can take him places and have a good time, but then you pay and pay and pay and you can’t get the jerk out of your hair. He disappears for awhile and you think, “ah, I don’t need him,” and then he comes back (and maybe even you want him back a little–at least the fun parts) and it is fun for a brief spell until the bills and the cheating and the jerking around start up again.
This probably isn’t the best analogy I’ve ever made on this blog, but I can’t help feeling that same sense of catharsis in whacking that bill with a big hunk o’ money and kicking that table to pieces.
It’s even better this time, really, because there’s virtually no chance I’ll end up with a broken toe or a broken heart.