Saturday, July 20, 2013

Iron and Ball

Ever since I placed myself in the list of PhD candidates in UTP, subjecting myself to endless amount of mental torture, sleepless nights, fear of supervisor and other forms of psychologically-related disorders, I have nearly abandoned one of my most favorite pastime activities -- golfing. Although mostly my time in golf was spent at the driving range, I've surely missed the kicks of hearing the knock on my iron against the ball at the right spot, however sexually-suggesting this sentence may be. The urge to send the ball flying at the right projectile motion and traveling curvature to the 100-yard island in the middle of the driving range lake of Clearwater Sanctuary golf makes the activity go raging with adrenaline punches. Like a drive to achieve something. Getting some sense of achievement. I'm looking forward to get to the driving range again to practice some swing, now knowing that my dear lady used to play golf. After all, nothing feels more liberating than to imagine the faces of some people in the middle of the floater golf balls before hitting the crap out, sending them flying across the minimum range and into an enormous crater filled with water, the result of tin-mining in the earlier years. Gotta watch my back though. I'm getting old. Seriously.

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