9 holes of absent minded aim interspersed (albeit very rarely) with some shots of pure brilliance and even a hole-in-one.
My score sheet read like the story of my life. Sometime brilliant, sometimes horrendous, most of the time, just scraping by without getting noticed.
Oddly, after a one and a half month streak of happy-go-lucky 'do-er not think-er' me, mini-golf brought things to a roaring halt.
To be taken down by a stolen morning of elitist 'sport' - just great. (We started about 15 minutes before we were due at work, turned up an hour late and cried "Puncture, Sir!").
Now I'm plagued by questions of "WHY?" (to be cried out in a lament worthy of Shakespearean tragedy) and "HOW?" and "WHAT CAN I DO?" about my inconsistencies and lack of results - in life, not just golf. I've been stuck in my head for too long to simply dismiss these 'concerns' as I should and continue living life, but at the same time have been plagued by them often enough to know that more thinking is not the answer.
Blech. I liked yesterday better - running around Dakshin Chitra worrying only about not squishing my pot and reaching Andhra Pradesh.
Not quite sure if this makes any sense, but I suppose the return of emo-me was inevitable and hence the blog must reflect it.
Consistency I suppose isn't really a process to be learned and figured out as much as repeated action. But I'm so used to change and instability that I perhaps thrive on the drama of it all - despite complaining that I need peace and quiet.
To be consistent, you'd have to do the same thing every day, constantly improving and persisting. The only thing I like to do consistently is to try new things every day and run about with a mad look on my face. But that isn't really passion I suppose. I know it really isn't that difficult, but I'd rather just embrace the ADD rather than force on the straight jacket.
Flooglewhopper.
For a long time I never understood Edvard Munch's The Scream. I could not comprehend why a circle of man with paint swirling around him inspired such passion in so many. (Of course, the first time I saw the painting, I was 5 years old and flipping through posters in the Nature Store while my parents shopped/chatted. I also wondered why there were so many pictures of an ugly drab looking long brown haired woman without a smile). But now, I feel somewhat like the screaming circle of a man, in that there are things swirling around my head - but I'm kind of envious of him - because I wish I could scream, but can't seem to find the gumption.
Like Virginia Woolfe said at some point of A Room of One's Own - "...pulled apart by her own contrary instincts..." - feel rather like that at the moment. And worse, all my instincts are looking for a place to settle -a place to call home - and there really isn't anywhere except an insane drive forwards to places I don't really want to be.
Ok - I am going to stop now before I explode into an emo rock ballad of badly expressed feeling.
Ich.
********** 5 minutes later ************
After working off-campus for the past month and a half, coming back to Archana's for lunch was rather unsettling.
While I was comfortable, happy and free everywhere else - I was suddenly discomfited back over here.
Too many people.
Agoraphobia.
3 comments:
When did you get so good at writing? I mean you've always been a good writer... but man you've gotten good.
I always thought golf was a pretty cool sport in theory - very zen. You have to forget your emotions when you hit the ball to get that perfect projectile (yay for physics). But then again, in theory acceleration is 9.8 meters per second squared. Spherical chickens and all... they get you every time.
By the way, the emo rock ballad zone is where I THRIVE. Don't fight it...
I guess that with the way we grew up the fact that we find comfort and constancy in the lack of both makes sense in a way... it's something that I've often thought about myself. It's the reason why I've been bored shitless all summer too. Being balanced and sane for too long just isn't in our DNA akka. ;)
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