From my perspective as of today, Sartre was spot on in the pessimistic sense of his line "Hell is other people". If hell is having one's own shortcomings brilliantly illuminated by others, then hell is indeed where I am. In the last week I have spent many long hours labouring over a mechanical demon of my own making, becoming a slave to its creation. What do I have to show for it? I have very pretty little machine that does not run, with flaws that mar its beauty which only I can see and the frustration of missing yet another race week-end because I have nothing to race with. Additionally, I have ignored the needs of others and in the process have had the mirror of scrutiny held up before me, showing me to be obsessed rather than dedicated, inept rather than creative and uncaring rather than focused.
Bummer. Pesky others.
As attractive as the image of the little race moto on fire is, only made more so by my desire to dance naked around its flames, I suspect that I will instead succumb to its plaintive little siren call. I will devote more hours to its creation, this time discovering why it does not seem to have a clutch when all of the clutchy bits are there and they are moving around in a clutchy sort of fashion.
I can't give up. Its not in me nature, Mr. Froggy. And when that mirror is held up again, I think I'll just duck. I try to be like Taoist (and Dudeist) water, moving around the rock instead of against it. I do try. But sometimes, sometimes I just have to plant my feet, pick that big fucker up out of the stream bed and run naked and splashing through the water with grim determination.
No matter that through illness, family commitments or the perversions of the mechanical deities, I have missed three out of three race weekends. Any chance of a podium finish for the season is gone before I start the first engine of the season. Bah! Nothing good to say at all. Nothing at all.
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