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I imagine ripping my computer monitor from the table, a mess of electrical cords in tow.
It smashes into the carpet and I'm already grabbing the cpu. The CPU.
I'm taking it outside and somehow there is an axe in my hand.
Perhaps it has been there all along.
Pieces of black plastic and metal are spraying out onto the cement.
I'm swinging down. Hard.
Documents, files, emails. Gone.
But I'm not thinking about that. I'm pouring petrol on my grey swivel chair.
On my paperwork.
On the printer beeping MISFEED at me in blue light.
It's all burning.
I'm imagining it all burning.