smash_it_up tender square the husband of the previous couple that owned this house was a woodworker. he built a pine workbench against the west wall of the house in the unfinished portion of the basement and attached a pegboard behind it for his tools. on the shelf below the table and in between the concrete wall they left a bunch of building materials from when they renovated the kitchen: backsplash tiles, flooring pieces, extra aluminum for the new exhaust pipe they ran. we’re getting foundation work done on the house, along that west wall later this week. we’ve been preparing over the past few days for the company we hired, moving furniture and other miscellany from the cellar to give them an 8-foot radius to complete the job. we knew the workbench had to go—the worst cracks were disguised by the pegboard, which our inspector pointed out when we bought the house. i knew a regular hammer wasn’t going to cut it. so we ordered a cheap 3-pound sledgehammer from amazon and a couple pairs of safety googles. when the hammer arrived, we joked that it looked like a baby mjölnir. luckily, the workbench seemed pretty rickety. today we put on our work gloves and goggles and got to work. i decided we needed a soundtrack, so i cranked the damned and took the first swing. it was exhilarating. ever i since i learned what a rage room is from “working mom’s” i’ve itched to go to one. i wanted to take out my anger on a bunch of glassware like anne carlson. i wanted to smash and scream and destroy when things got so bad with my family, with michael’s, and with grad school last year and again this year. i had forgotten all about this impulse until i saw the wood buckle in response to my strike. michael left the scene to get earplugs, asked me if i wanted any, but i waved him off. i kept bashing the bench as the song chanted “i’m going to smash it up until there’s nothing left.” it felt really fucking good to shatter something after hearing from “terri” today. when i told michael that she emailed me earlier today he said, “you know you can message her to wish her the best at homewood.” “absolutely not!” i shot back. there was edge in my voice and i got defensive. “i already said that in my last message to her; i don’t need to say it again.” “do you really believe she’s going?” he asked. “i don’t know and i don’t really care,” i answered. “fuck this shit.” i kept hammering until my ears rang with the crack of metal splintering wood. and i kept hammering because i didn’t want the ringing to cease. 210929 what's it to you? who go blather from