Rimbaud and Inconsistency

There's no conclusion I can come to in my life that satisfyingly explains why I have no consistency in anything. I'm not even talking about the important things like paying bills or brushing teeth. It manifests itself in the most peculiar ways and the most finite and spectacularly boring examples. I can't even manage to hand write in the same fist twice in a row. But what really bothers me lately is my violin. On a guitar, a G chord will always be a G chord. Place fingers, press, strum. G. Every time. The mighty C major chord on the piano. Press, enjoy. Every time it will be the eternal C major. On my violin however, in fact, on any violin each note requires skill and precision of surgical proportions. Now, your average violin student picks up his/her violin day one and begins the process of castrating cats for the next six months at least. Slowly but surely they dial in the fingers and center themselves learning to frame their hand and position by position they get their notes. Boo ya, you're a violinist. This seemed far too time consuming to me. I got my violin and from the first day, I'm proud and egotistical to say, I was playing melodies. I've grown, and learned more, doing my own brand of polishing, but herein lies the rub. There will be days that i will come home from work, grab my fiddle and play brilliantly. Final two note chord, brief silence.....applause. (thank you, thank you...too kind) The next day, sometimes even later that evening I will play again, and completely lose the frame. Can't buy a note. Not even for ready money. Its been that way since the beginning and continues today. I was under the impression that practice makes perfect. My day to day practice however forms a bicycle chain whose links consist of good, good, brilliant, shit, great, scum, wow, bella, civet, shit, well done. Rinse and repeat. Very, very frustrating. To get to Carnegie Hall I will need the J bus, not practice. This theme follows in pretty much every aspect of my life. (This blog has no meat to justify the Rimbaud theme, it was just title candy. Gotcha, bitch) I try and try, honestly I try. The path to mediocrity, it seems is paved with my good intentions. I am never able to routinely get results. I make an effort and derail. It's not a horrible percentage of failure, but it's a definite crap shoot. I have vague plans to work on this problem but I'm having trouble remembering to keep it in the fore-front of my mind. And, shit. I think I forgot to pay the phone bill.