I get angry at my stupid strategy games when things don't work out like they should.
When things don't make sense.
At the same time, I rage when my glasses aren't where they should be.
I'm not even talking about rage.
I'm talking about shouting in anger and frustration at my computer, talking to virtual football players who can neither hear or respond to my exhortations.
Smacking bolsters against the floor in futility. Smashing it against the glass table in my room, knowing that it may break it, and not caring.
Screaming.
Threatening the gods of the game, who dare to defy me, and logic itself.
Yes, it's not harmless. It's fucking psychotic.
If my amateur psychological assessment isn't wrong, it stems from a need for control.
A psychotic need for control.
A need, to have things be where they should be, to have things happen as they should be. For the world to make sense.
I need to fix this before it kills me.
Or hurts someone.
