Good Morning Impuissant Worms,
I got pretty hammered on Saturday. I’m not proud of it, but over all I’d say my alcohol consumption is down two-thirds. Traditionally, playing golf involves large amounts of beer while meandering the course seeking that one good shot. The beer usually takes the edge off our unrealistic expectations, so medicinally speaking it serves a purpose. As I’ve no doubt mentioned before, golf is the cruelest of games. I started hot out of the gate and was remarkably one over after four holes. By the end of the round I was a miserable 15 over with thoughts of suicide (no thanks JJ not yet). I was allowed to play at a high level for a short while and found it surreal to hit a dozen solid shots in a row. Yet after every shot I had to fight a nagging voice continually pointing out the good play couldn’t possibly last! It was like having the Bagwan as your caddy; delighted in the misery of others! I finally succumbed to the voice. Almost immediately the light was snuffed out; returned to my hack n slash style unable to make the simplest of shots. Why is that?
Most avid golfers will tell you the game to a large degree is mental. I subscribe to this as well. But to break 80 one must also practice. I don’t. Ever! Yet I still think I’m capable of winning. How ridiculous is that!? Having said that though, I don’t know how to approach anything competitive other than to fully believe I can kick everyone’s ass! Life continues to creep forward and if you learn nothing else realize life’s rich pageant is a moving target always in a state of flux. Someone said, a wiser man than me to be sure, “Every time I figure out the meaning of life, they change it!”
My on-going deterioration is accelerating at an astounding rate. But there’s only two choices; I can either listen to the hissing of the Bagwan telling me to ‘just die’ or fight it off and believe I can still kick the ass of LRP and win. One must believe! Believe or ‘just die.’