A co-worker once asked me how I deal with a job that makes them want to gouge their eyes out.
“Well,” I explained, “a sensible person would give up the will to live, start stress eating away the pain, and then go home to drink themselves into a stupor.”
“Is that what you do?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not sensible.”
“So, what do you do?”
I smiled and pull a jar from the drawer of my desk. A dozen eyeballs stare at us from within the clear liquid. “I gouge out the eyes of the people who piss me off.”