The official start of spring is only a few days away. Unless, you subscribe to the theories of those witch doctors known as meteorologists. Somehow, in their crazy brains, the start of “meteorological spring” actually occurred on March 1. Those clowns have been pissing me off repeatedly for a few months now, and this is just another example. Anyway, Spring has almost sprung, as the old saying goes. I write these ramblings sitting in my home office looking out my window into my backyard, and as of this writing, only a small pile of snow remains where the sun doesn’t quite yet shine. And there’s some in my yard too.
I call this the season of Hope. In the upper Midwest, where I reside, I subscribe to the theory of 4 seasons, like the rest of the world. However, my seasons are Hope, Summer, Sadness, and Hell. I’ve spent this latest season, Hell (winter), under the spell of my annual coping mechanism, oblivion. Sure I know what’s going on outside, and I deal with that, however when it comes to golf, I shut off my brain. Whether it be thinking about it, writing about it, watching it, or anything else involving it, it’s best I just avoid them all together. As all 4 of my faithful readers know, I’ve been fortunate enough to take a few trips to the desert this year to play a some rounds, and earlier this week I spent 36 holes in 80 degree sunshine in the tropical locale of Kansas City, Missouri. Upon my arrival back home, a dejected, isolationist funk overcame me, once again. That funk led to an epiphany, a way to describe to those not addicted to the wretched game of golf just how I was feeling. And, my lack of motivation to go to the gym this morning is leading me to write about it. So, you, the reader, are benefiting from both my depression and my laziness, how thoughtful of me.
Is there anything more painful to an addict than the occasional hit of a drug, knowing during the entire trip that after coming down from that high the next hit could be weeks, even months away? Is that a reason to celebrate the buzz, or lament its futility? As I review the past few months, the question I continually ask myself, was taking those trips good or bad? Now, even I will acknowledge the memories and friends made on those trips far outweigh the angst of the occasional hit of my chosen drug. But, as far as the psychological impact of these random golf benders, is the binge and purge method really a good one? All doctors, self proclaimed experts, or anyone that stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last night will tell you, moderation is the key to happiness. But let’s face it, I don’t do anything half-assed. Except of course exercise, work, cleaning my house, yard work, laundry, cleaning my garage, balancing my checkbook, double checking my taxes…. Well ok, you get the point, I don’t do golf half assed. I also stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last week, so does that make me an expert too?
After much reflection, and a few cups of coffee, I’ve come to a decision. Maybe the binge and purge method isn’t the best method, but it’s the only method I know. I’d much rather have the excitement of an upcoming golf trip to get me through the dark dreary winter days than nothing at all. Like any good addict, I will continue to do anything in my power to feed my addiction. The first step to overcoming an addiction is to admit we are powerless over the drug, and that our lives have become unmanageable.
I admit I’m powerless, but so far I seem to be managing just fine.
I’m pretty good at ignoring what goes on around me at the range. But one person’s hovering seemed to be getting closer and when I saw someone approach my golf bag in my peripheral vision I decided to pay attention. A guy actually grabbed a club out of my bag. Before I could even say anything, he stepped toward me and took the club from my hand! I was stunned and probably had my mouth open as I stood there in disbelief. He handed me the other club, squatted down and touched my leg! He was giving me some kind of instruction about my stance or what he wanted me to do but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. What kind of idiot hands a woman a weapon and does that? He was not just some random guy offering tips or perving around. He was a teaching pro at the course. Think he’d attempt the same thing with a man? Even an unsolicited tip or offer of assistance? I doubt it!
My “decision” to opt out for this blue moon celebration may have been aided by my recent oral surgery, sutures, antibiotics, vicodin and chipmunk cheeks, but who cares? It was a crap year and I’m kicking it out my own way. I even gave my Wii avatar her own golfchick-munk cheeks so she can play along.
