Beautiful, warm Fall day. I move outside to become one with the universe, one with my gorgeous, beautiful,(fouled, problematic, pissing-me-off)Springfield Armory M-1A rifle. Since I've owned it, I've never managed to field strip it further than removing the barrel and trigger group.
This is the day! A beautiful day. This is the day my rifle-cleaning-karma changes, I'm sure.
I sit in the sun. I am warmed by the rays of the sun and bask in the glow of the cosmic muffin. I listen to the hum of bees. I find my center. I am one with the world, with this beautiful rifle. Ommmmmmm.
I lift out the trigger group. Ommmmmmmm.
I lift out the barrel and receiver group. Ommmmmmm.
I am one with the universe. Nothing can vex me. Nothing can stop me. The universe will unfold as it should and the operating rod will lift out when I pull it back to the appropriate notch.
Ommmmmmmmmm.
[Ahem] I say again my last, "The universe will unfold as it should and the operating rod will lift out when I pull it back to the appropriate notch."
Umm ... are you listening universe? I HAVE PULLED THE OPERATING ROD BACK TO THE NOTCH(shouting at the universe now, causing some neighbors to wonder what's going on behind my front yard fence)
Shit.
Oh. Umm. Ommmmmmmm.
[Heavy sigh]
I give up again, and decide to simply run a bore brush down the barrel, and swab the chamber as best I can.
Having made that decision, I find my Zen again ... Ommmmmmm
No I haven't! Goddam, piss-me-off rifle!
Should have stuck to archery
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