Wednesday, May 27th, 2009, 5:38 pm
Feel like I’ve been stuck in limbo for the last 15 days. Part of that was being sick and isolated from the world for two weeks. Two weeks of sitting on the couch wondering if I’d ever feel like myself again. I actually don’t feel 100% back yet, but after operating at 10% for a fortnight 80% feels pretty goddam good. I drank a couple of beers last night, had a couple of wings, and enjoyed them. At the moment I’m drinking a Sam Adams and, man, it tastes good. A week ago I was worried that I’d never feel good enough to enjoy a beer again. We make progress.
As my body finally turned the tide against the bug that flattened me I started reading reports from my friends who were arriving in Vegas. I knew I’d be fashionably late this year–I’m actually sitting in a bar at Greater Pitt waiting for my flight to Sin City. I land around 8:30pm Vegas time, and tomorrow the $40K No-Limit event starts at noon. Gotta hit the ground running, and running fast.
When I got back from Argentina I was in the mood for the WSOP to start right then and there. I had plans, ideas, schemes. Got my new camera, new computer, I was locked and loaded. Then I got sick and two weeks I hoped would hone my blogging skills to razor-sharpness vanished in a miasma of misery. Instead of hanging with my ‘Burgh buddies and enjoying the Pens’ playoff run I was a shut-in. I got out twice in the last few days, including last night when I had the aforementioned beer and wings. Then it was time to say goodbye to them, goodbye to Ernie the Cat, goodbye to home and hearth. Goodbye to Pittsburgh in the middle of another glorious Cup run.
And now it’s time to hook up with my blogging buddies and fall into the insane routines the World Series of Poker imposes on those daft enough to cover it from soup to nuts. I’m excited to see everyone, especially as most folks I know are already there and have actually been there for several days. I feel like I’m late to the party, not fashionably late. Like I should already be there, working.
I’m hoping the adrenaline rush of greed and gambling and pumped-in oxygen will bring me all the way back from the bug that took me to the woodshed. When I finished packing this afternoon and pulled the plugs and lowered the blinds in my flat, I can’t deny the the lower lip trembled a bit. I wanna go, I’ll have fun, I’ll do good work (I think). And when it’s time to go home in July I’m sure I’ll miss Vegas and my friends there. But it’s these moments of transition, of limbo, that mess with my emotions. Maybe it’s just the bug twisting the knife one last time. Or maybe it’s the second beer I’m about to send to it’s inevitable end. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Vegas, in five hours. For seven weeks.
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