Coming into the home stretch for this trip and it's been a tough one.
Vegas is a sexy, sultry Jezebel, enticing you with Angelina looks as you make the flyover to land. After three days with her, though, you wake up one morning to find you've sold your soul to the female version of Asmodeus.
I had nightmares last night and didn't sleep well. And then I reviewed my Twitter feed and got really embarrassed. This was supposed to be a business trip and I think I've come across as a goofball at the candy store who stuffed all the penny candy in her mouth, while still in the store, and now can't fit through the exit to find her way home.
Reno was a hole in the wall. I never look twice at table games, slots, shows and it was easy to shun those at the Grand Sierra. I've had no trouble doing the same here in Vegas, but I haven't had the single minded focus I carried during those October days of Reno's Pot o' Gold series. The WSOP is a player's mecca and so I don't really fault myself for the giddy butterflies the festivities at the Rio have brought me. I do fault myself, though, for being such a clown. It may be entertaining, for people who don't really know me, and certainly can't truly care about me, to watch...but, it's absolutely not a profitable mindset. And I've only got three days to turn it around.
I'm playing well, but my edge in this game is so small that any distraction and any undisciplined action and any mistake, no matter how slight, can derail hours and hours of nose to the grindstone work. This may sound stupid, but I'm reminded of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy living, or get busy dying."
I'm missing home. I'm missing my loves. And I'm missing several deep runs. I've got them in me. It's time to find them.