Random Pips

It’s the middle of the night right now and I can’t sleep. Not that I’m really doing anything about it since I’m writing here at the moment. Hey, would you say it’s overly weird that the desire to write often likes to seize me at random moments when almost everyone in or near my time zone should be sleeping? I don’t know…that’s why I’m asking you. Well, just chalk it up to one of my little eccentricities then, I guess.

So I just returned from a short break back to my hometown. That’s why I haven’t written here in over a week. It’s quite difficult to find the time to hole up in an Internet café when you’ve got a million things you want to reconnect with. I found I really missed the city - more than I could ever have imagined.

You know, you never truly realize how much you miss home until you’ve gone back and actually licked the air or tasted the ground. Well, figuratively - you wouldn’t want to do that in the part of town I grew up in. I mean, even though I call a different town “home” now, the feeling still sticks. It’s bizarre…it’s like every time I leave a place I’ve become attached to, some minuscule morsel of my soul detaches itself and clings on to the place so that I never really feel complete until I return once in awhile.

Needless to say, I was a bit glum when I had to leave my hometown and go back home. Wait, that didn’t make sense. Hmm…whatever. Where was I? Glum…yes, I felt glum…but content as well. Okay, how is that even possible? Because if I felt glum leaving a piece of myself behind and now I’m content again, that would mean I found…oh.

So…I guess this settles the huge question mark I’ve always had over my head since I moved here: I’ve genuinely grown attached to this town enough that another minuscule morsel of my soul now clings to it whenever I leave.

That’s quite an epiphany to sleep on because I never thought it would be possible. I’m gonna need to call this a night. Give me some time. I’ll fully grasp it when the morning comes.

Good night.

I lost my golf virginity this weekend. Was it good for me, you ask? Oh, let me tell you all about it while I smoke an imaginary cigarette.

It started out with a slow tempo because I really had no idea what I was doing. For example, one of the thoughts that kept re-surfacing on my mind was how exactly was I supposed to position my club. I mean, do I aim high or do I aim low? There were so many possibilities and positions available. Anyway, I eventually decided that for first-timers, it’s probably best to aim low.

So I did and I was instantly rewarded with a climax that reached epic heights. I believe it was a record high. I swiftly followed it through with a couple more strokes and plunked it straight into the hole. That was my first hole and I was on-par. Life is beautiful. Orgasmic even.

Seven more followed after that and I could not help but notice the downgrading pattern of my performance. After each consecutive one, I felt more and more…drained, if you will. I can’t even begin to explain how deflated my ego felt then. I mean, I went in there thinking I’d be a tiger with endless endurance and powerful prowess. In fact, I went in there believing I was the Tiger.

I thought, “That’s it? Just get it straight in the hole each time and I can become the next legend? Psh…well, that’ll be as easy as eating pie. I got this. Oh, there’ll be eighteen of them in a row? Hmm…a little more complicated, but it’s nothing I shouldn’t be able to handle.” Yeah I know, right now you’re probably thinking, “Wow, this guy sure is cocky.” And you’re absolutely right - I was very, very cocky.

Well, like I said, that all changed by the time I reached my eighth one. My aim was off and I kept missing the sweet spot that triggers that wonderful climax. There were also a few times when I would accidentally aim too high and although that does put an interesting spin to the moment, it really doesn’t cut it until the hole gets some more activity as well.

Anyway, long story short, I was all gung-ho to call it quits. There really is a limit to everything. As euphoric as each time was, there’s a certain point when we have to be able to recognize how much is too much. We need the time to take a step back and regain our vitality. Thankfully, everyone decided to call it a day after the eighth one as well and I was immensely relieved. The scores were all tallied up and we finally staggered our way to home with intensely sore backs.

As we left, I couldn’t help looking back and smiling wistfully. It’s natural - everyone cherishes their first time. And they should. It’s their initiation into the game after all and after tasting its fruit the first time, you can bet that they’ll be back for more. You may make an educated guess that I certainly will be.

In retrospect, looking at my first scores of the game, I must say that my performance really wasn’t all that bad. If we were to grade this by highest number of strokes made, I’d beat Tiger Woods on the score count any day, hands down.