I never did have that impulse, and eventually the feeling that I someday would, disappeared.
Now, however, I have that same relationship with our garbarator. We have lived in this house for nine years, and I have a very uneasy truce with the garbarator in the kitchen. I hardly ever use it, as I mostly compost kitchen waste, but occasionally the odd scrap will end up down the garbarator so I'll have to turn it on from time to time. And every time I do, I wonder, will I be overcome with the impulse to plunge my arm down into the running garabator, just the see what sort of damage those blades would do to flesh and bone?
I never actually have the desire to do that, you understand, just the fear that I may have that desire (so don't phone the psych ward just yet).
Does anyone else ever have that sort of fear of a harmful compulsion taking hostage of your common sense?
Or is it just me?