a fool and his money

ticketmaster is a dirty son of a bitch and i just ended up paying $62 for 2 tickets that are $22 a piece. that is $18 worth of secret ingredients. secret ingreedients. how funny am i?

do you play minigolf ever? sometimes you can get so engrossed in a game, you stop really paying attention to the score. because you know it'll be close but you're convinced you'll win. and then after the 18th hole where you fire that ball at the bullseye and you don't win a free game (because let's face it, that's fucking impossible) you tally up the score to find that you lost by a stroke. and then you go back and tally again in disbelief. 3 or 4 times.

how long does it usually take for it to sink into your head? that you had victory at your fingertips but somehow let it slip away? how long before you are able to forget it ever happened? does it stain your next game? do you find yourself staring down the 6th fairway, putter in hand, having a long, wistful sigh before you let rip?

this is clumsy because i'm rushing. i don't feel much like a writer these days. i can't find the patience to do it right.

i guess i've always had this problem. when i've got something to be melancholy about i can write and write and sing and play and it seems like i never run out. when things are mostly good my writing mostly sucks.

that's something to work on. you know, since when you really break it down i'd like to be happy more often than sad in the future. but i'd also like to be writing even more regularly than i force myself to do now.

can you push a button and change your muse? i want to wake up and be inspired to write about flora and fauna and hot tubs and saunas.