MJ Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest

Obsessions can or cannot be good things. If it gets you to the next level without doing immoral or unscrupulous things, I think that's okay. Folks, I am obsessed and it's not in a good way. It all has to do with golf. Last year I had a handicap of 8. That means I'd score around 80. I scored in the seventies the entire month of July. My course index was a 9. That computes to the difficulty of the course I'm playing. I was having fun. Not any more. I can't break 90 and, in some cases, I'm pushing 100. So, what's this 'obsession'. If you talk with my golf buddies they will tell you but I'm carrying it to an extreme. If I'm not around them they'll tell you I'm nuts and that's when they're being kind. I am desperate to find the answers to me being a 'dud' on the course. I carry a notebook and write down swing thoughts at all hours of the day---------and night!. The notebook is now a book; about the length of the Poseidon Adventure. I'll be sitting in church and unconsciously practice my grip. At least, when we're at the movies no one can witness my shenanigans. I carry a magic marker with me on the course and write code phrases on my golf glove e.g. "No FRE", (flying right elbow). When I hit a particularly good shot I'll forget to repeat it two holes later. I change something on every shot. I'm a basket case.
My permanent foursome should be composed of Charles Manson, Ted Kaczinski and David Berkowitz: "we're all nutso".
There is an 8X11 picture on my wall of a golfer addressing the ball. The caption reads: "1.5 seconds of swing thoughts". Then all around the picture are thousands of these little reminders. That's me on the course. I think I must have posed for this picture.
Last night, around midnight, Lizzie and I were in bed. The lights were off. It had been this way for five minutes. All of a sudden she said, "you're practicing your grip, aren't you"? I wish I would have had food in my mouth so when I answered, "No" it would have been garbled.
I have entertained thoughts of selling one of my grandchildren to anyone who could solve my problems.
Unless you've played the game you have no idea of the frustration. Yesterday, after a round, my buddy and I were talking about my hole-in-one and how we won the partners tournament that day. That is a distant memory; sort of like how Milton Berle would talk about having sex with Mae West in 1930. Only a vague, distant memory. I know it felt good but I couldn't quite remember!
So, all of last evening I wrote swing thoughts on my computer then emailed them to myself. At last count I emailed me thirty-one times. Today, since it's chilly and rainy I will head out to the driving range equipped with heaters in stalls. I will spend $10.50 on a jumbo bucket of golf balls and I know what will happen. Everything will fall into focus. I am, bar none, the very finest golf range golfer in the world. I will shape every shot. I will drive the ball straighter than a laser . I will hit flop shots and 90 yard sand wedges.
A number of years ago I was on this same range and some college kids stopped to watch me. I thought they they were going to ask for my autograph. I laid down edged boards eight inches apart, placed a ball between and laced two irons down the fairway with a slight draw(right to left). It was magical. I was the 'King of the Range'! I was more famous than Oprah!!
I'm am now leaving for the driving range. I have all the essentials: pen, notebook, alignment stick, the finest golf clubs known to amateurs and a Bushnell pinseeker. I have everything a great golfer needs except for one thing: "Six inches of gray matter between my ears".