If I ever start a fifth (no, wait, sixth? seventh?) career as an English teacher, I will happily drive my students crazy. I’m sure they already deserve it, whoever and wherever they are.
Lesson for the day: you do not throw yourself into your sword (or any other sharp implement). The word you are vainly searching for is “onto.” You throw yourself onto your sword, such as in the example of King Saul. He threw himself onto his sword. You very well may throw yourself into a foxhole, a privy, a nest of adders, or a slough of despond. I suppose you might throw yourself into a fury, though I feel much more comfortable with working yourself into a fury. You work yourself into a job (if you have the determination); you might work yourself onto a job if it’s a site-specific job, but I would avoid that if possible.
Lord knows I’m guilty every now and then, but this isn’t one of those cases where he who is without sin is not allowed to critique. The almost-right word is not the right word. Lightning is not the same as a lightning bug (thank you, Mr. Twain). A fire hydrant isn’t a hydra, even if the hydra happens to be on fire. If you take the elevator, it very well might elevate her if your girlfriend is along, but only if you’re both going up, but that doesn’t mean she’s an elevator (though there is a case to be made for that if she has a net positive effect on your spirits).
Speaking of which, don’t ever address a group of people as “you guys” if my mother happens to be in that group of people. You will most assuredly be called on the carpet (whether you’re standing on one or not) for your slaughter of what is historically a gender-specific word. I assume that never happens in the deep South.