NOT THAT I COULD PLAY ANYWAY

It's not like there's time for golf right now, let alone showering and shaving. 

But it's the perfect time of year. The grass is green, the greens roll true, the leaves are like fireworks. Reminds me of my favorite passage from On The Road. 

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

So why am I wasting my time writing about giving up golf? 

What the hell am I going to do with the 10 hours a week I won't be squandering on the links?

I thought I might finally learn how to tickle the ivories of the black elephant that lies dormant in our living room.

I thought I might finally write the book that's burning a hole in my looseleaf.

I thought I might devote the time to getting Golfoholics off the teebox.

Barb thought I might at long last clean out the garage.

But my company had a different idea. Let's consolidate in DC. Double our footprint and hunker down under one roof. Great idea. 

Only it means 3-4 hours a day in the car.

Chauffeur wanted.

Or at least a few good golf audiobooks.