Paint Your Wagon.
And we're back.
I am the Man of Steel. I returned from the casino in one piece. Pepper was left with plenty of food and water. There were no voicemails looking for me, worried that I'd fallen off the wagon. I swear, some people -- my ex-girlfriend, my parents -- have an ability to sense when it's happening. I believe in ESP. They call as soon as I take some step toward gambling again. Downloading PartyPoker software. Going to the pawn shop.
This time, though, no calls. No guilt.
I went with my friend from law school. Eventually he is going to fall hard because of his gambling addiction. But not yet. But it was strange to be in a situation where I was the prudent one. I was the person advocating stop-losses and sticking to them, keeping one eye on the clock so that we didn't miss the train home. Folding garbage like J8s preflop even though I was supposedly 'priced in' by the size of the pot. That's the darling rationalization of action junkies, by the way: "I had pot odds!"
I was pretty conservative on this trip and it paid off. I came away with a $50 profit. So the trip paid for itself and I had a good time. Being away from the game and then returning does different things to different people. But it would be a mistake for the reader to assume that falling off the wagon, as I undeniably have done, necessarily translates into going off the rails and embarking on a week-long bender of excess. Usually that comes later. The sickness is shrewd enough to start by relaxing my mental defenses. It assures me that I can control this. I can be prudent. I can manage my gambling.
The sickness is brilliant. Assuming I even have a sickness.
I am the Man of Steel. I returned from the casino in one piece. Pepper was left with plenty of food and water. There were no voicemails looking for me, worried that I'd fallen off the wagon. I swear, some people -- my ex-girlfriend, my parents -- have an ability to sense when it's happening. I believe in ESP. They call as soon as I take some step toward gambling again. Downloading PartyPoker software. Going to the pawn shop.
This time, though, no calls. No guilt.
I went with my friend from law school. Eventually he is going to fall hard because of his gambling addiction. But not yet. But it was strange to be in a situation where I was the prudent one. I was the person advocating stop-losses and sticking to them, keeping one eye on the clock so that we didn't miss the train home. Folding garbage like J8s preflop even though I was supposedly 'priced in' by the size of the pot. That's the darling rationalization of action junkies, by the way: "I had pot odds!"
I was pretty conservative on this trip and it paid off. I came away with a $50 profit. So the trip paid for itself and I had a good time. Being away from the game and then returning does different things to different people. But it would be a mistake for the reader to assume that falling off the wagon, as I undeniably have done, necessarily translates into going off the rails and embarking on a week-long bender of excess. Usually that comes later. The sickness is shrewd enough to start by relaxing my mental defenses. It assures me that I can control this. I can be prudent. I can manage my gambling.
The sickness is brilliant. Assuming I even have a sickness.
posted by davy at 2:46 PM
2 Comments:
I have read every post in one sitting. Addiction is addiction whether its gambling or booze. I know all too well where you are...
You say this well.
And consider zoloft.
Why don't you embrace your passion for gaming? You like it. It defines you. What else could or would you be doing? Were you really destined to practice law? C'mon. Double or nothing.
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