Chunking Stuff at the Wall

When I first published this blog, I figured it'd be a great outlet for my rants. At the time, my empty nest provided me with little audience for my soapbox lectures.

Instead, I find myself using this column to ruminate about things that occur to me. I don't do a lot of ranting, I do more conjecturing. I wonder if I need to rename this site? I kind of like 'chunking things', it's easy to remember.

I have been known to launch a poorly written or plotted book against a wall. Especially after reading all the words and being so disappointed. Once when I was travelling, I read an incredibly dreadful novel. When I stepped out of the jetway, I pushed it into a trash can. The gentleman behind me said, "you know, if you just leave the book on one of the tables, another traveler can read it." I spun around and said, "I specifically threw that book in the trash so no one would EVER read it again."

Had I been at home, I would have winged it at a wall. It makes me feel better.

I know you're wondering what the name of the book was... usually, I feel very strongly about protecting the innocent, but in this case, I'll name names. The book was Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco. I had read his The Name of the Rose and loved it so much, I could NOT wait until I got my hands on this book. Then as I read and read FP, I kept waiting for it to get better. And it never did.

I spent the next 5 years quizzing every reader I knew, "did you read Foucault's Pendulum"? Most people said that they quit part way through. I only ever met one person who had finished the book, and he LOVED it. I'm sure I stared at this guy like he was an alien.

My father didn't even read the whole book, and he finishes almost every book he starts. He told me it was a waste of his time. I couldn't agree more. Only the fact that I was in Logan Airport kept me from chunking that book at a wall.

When you read this, you'll get the idea that I throw things when I'm mad. I don't. My house actually has a lot of breakables in it and I don't fling things around willy-nilly. I don't throw things at people routinely. But I have flung a can of tuna and a fork at my #1 son. He insists that he's emotionally damaged for life. I tell him he's just lucky that I'm a lousy throw. I didn't HIT him with that can of tuna or that fork. They both hit the wall next to him. Got his attention, though.

When I'm mad, I scream and cuss. I'm the kind of person that gets red faced and crazy. Out of control. But I don't punch or hit. And I don't throw things in anger. When I chunk something at a wall, it is a studied response. I give thought to the process and then throw.

It makes me feel better. Much like writing the blog provides an emotional outlet for me. Sometimes you just need to vent. Chunking things is a pressure valve for my very unstable psyche. You're just along for the ride.

--Sandee Wagner