Sometimes it’s just like that: when you‘re on vacation and the only t-time you can get is the six-am , but you take it anyway; mostly because you know the course is beautiful and your dad who is on vacation with you won’t mind the Bailey’s in the morning coffee, (so the hang-over doesn’t really start as soon as you try to grip the club).
I’m learning it’s the attitude you jump in with. You could be pissed that your only time away from the day-to-day grind of life is being interrupted by a 5:30am wake up call – by your mom no less – or you could be stoked that you are with the pops on a beautiful sunny morning- before it’s fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot, while he pays for brunch at the turn, and Bloody Mary’s are included.
We make the choice every morning what the day will be. There are those days when we make Par-5 on what’s really a Par-5 (doh!) so midway through we have to adjust our stroke (I’m using the theme here, go with it).
the beauty of life is choice. We could look at everyday (alright, who am I kidding?); I could look at everyday as if I’m the ball, the club, or the player. Some days I really am the ball and I get the shit beat out of me every few minutes. When I think there’s a reprieve, not so much… it’s just the turn and the players are resting up before the back nine to beat the shit out of me again. Other times, I’m the club waiting for my chance to show off my shit, only to learn, it’s all dependent on the player. I could be primed and ready with all the stuff I need and my player is having an off day then damn it – so am I. (What is that all about?)
Some days you can choose to have a great attitude, but you are the mercy of other things, for some it’s scheduling or finances or whatever, and for some it’s their body just not wanting to cooperate; ether way, neither the club nor the ball chooses the day. It’s all dependent on the player. The player controls how much practice they get, whether they are mentally prepared to be up at 6:00am and ready to play, or whether they just want to have a round of whack-fuck with the boys and enjoy the weather.
It is all a daily choice. We can be the ball and get the fuck whacked out of us at the whim of others, or be the club and do the whacking, but never know when or where. I think it far better to take control and be the player. Choose the course, the ball, and the club of your liking. Most importantly: what state are you in when you take the perfect club and whack the fuck out of the ball for yourself (it doesn’t mind). Grab each day with all you have and know you will come out on top. Make the day yours and own the course. After all, isn’t that how you earn the right to be a Tiger? Oh, er, wait.
Did I get in the line for the mega-gigantor vomit inducing power coaster? How did I end up on this ride instead of the gently rolling caterpillar coaster from the little tyke section? Whatever turn I took can I have my time machine now and un-take it? At least give me some Dramamine!
In the week since I’ve taken possession (a debatable term) of my place, I’ve had more ups and downs than I would ever sign up for. I literally had an anxiety attack walking in the door. No bueno.
‘You’re being too loud with your opening and closing the door. ‘
uumm, how do you suggest I enter and exit? Shimmy out the bathroom window???‘
‘We agreed that there wouldn’t be any “entertaining” here.’
uuummm I can’t exactly have a party in a studio and there’s no fucking kitchen! How do you think I’d entertain?? Oh, you define “entertain” as having someone – one over. a-no… this is completely unacceptable. Did you forget the part where I’m giving you (person of no relation to me) money (a lot of it) for this space ? Did it conveniently escape your grasp that you are not my mother and, with the exception of expecting the noise level to be taken down by 10pm, you can’t impose your lifestyle rules on me.
This is but a bump from my ride. I didn’t even touch the part about her “feng shui needs”. (oh yeah I did… a couple days ago on like day 4 or something) While it’s certain the land-lady is a couple fries short of a happy meal, it’s uncertain whether she’s been a bitch on purpose or as a by-product. Maybe she’s on the vortex of grump. Maybe I just need to buy her a pass to the grand-people park where you can send crochety old bags to chill the fuck out. Not me, being the peacemaker that I am, I’ve done my best to reach common ground and understanding. (don’t kid yourself into thinking I’ll not bitch about it… loudly) In doing so I’ve given up some of the power I have to throw the smack down. (the tickets were sold out – I think my dad got the last one) Hopefully the reward is a harmonious solution. Because if the ride doesn’t end soon I’m gonna throw up on someone’s head, probably the dog’s. And damnit I had a really good sando for lunch.