That Thing We Do

I awake around 7, hearing my wife trying to yell softly to my son, who is upstairs but does not hear his alarm clock. My son reminds me of my wife's brother, which is not a bad thing noting her brother's success as an architect. Jeff, my brother-in-law was the heaviest sleeper I have ever encountered. He is such a heavy sleeper that I was convinced it was an act for the first ten years after meeting him. I'm not such a heavy sleeper.

I awake, and smile, because even though I have just been removed from my peaceful slumber I can be sure a fresh brewed latte would be either awaiting me or arriving shortly. I also smile because being awoken at this time affords me the possibility of seeing my wife during various points of her getting ready for work.

I like how she looks. She is beautiful. I will save you from any graphic descriptions lest I risk offending my beauty. Suffice it to say that I am very attracted to her and experience a sort of teen aged glee each time her morning ritual takes her from the bathroom through the bedroom.

So, there I sit, latte in hand, news on the tv, and a beautiful woman occasionally strolling in front of me at various points of partial dress. My wife will leave for work, and take my son to be dropped off at his middle school. I will eventually drag myself out of bed to brush my teeth, at least.

At 8:20 I will dutifully take my daughter and her friend to high school. I have been told, and my being a man of the Northern NY precludes my ever being able to know this without explanation from many different women, that humidity is particularly tough on long hair. So, I take her to school in an air conditioned car each day.

I don't mind, however. In fact I like it, at least right now. I have been quite happy to take on each and every day for the last three weeks or so. I have been just absolutely nailing it at the card room. I take the girl to school, come home, get showered and shaved, maybe grab a bite to eat, and roll down to the card room around 10 am, give or take.

So, I wake up each day, have an awesome latte waiting for me, get to see a half naked, totally hot woman stroll by me every few minutes, spend time with my daughter, and get to work when I want to. If I want to watch some stupid show on tv until 11 am, then I do it. If I want to sit on facebook for an hour, then I do it. Life is pretty darned good. For now, at least.

The poker gods will not allow such joy to go unpunished. I have been running so well, and playing in such a zone, that I cannot remember the last day that I lost money. I know it will turn soon, it always does. But, for right now, for today, I am on top of the world!

Back to the story.

I usually arrive at the poker room sometime before noon. I know many people there. I am friends with most of the regular players as well as many of the staff. I approach the front desk, and happily tell Frannie to put me on the 2-2 and 2-5 no limit games. I check out the tournament schedule for the day. I walk back to the cage to get my chips. Along the way I am greeted by the Floor people. I smile, they are good folks.

At the cage I see Guy, or Elsie, or Edie. Edie will undoubtedly be happy if I am wearing green clothing. She is convinced that the color green has some mystical power which will aide me in my efforts to win money. She almost has me convinced. I must admit, I think about it as I'm looking for a shirt each day.

The cage person dutifully counts out my money, runs one of those pens they use to see if the bill is legite across each hundred I've laid out, and gives me the appropriate amount in poker chips. I always ask for the type of chips I want.

"Three red, Guy". Guy knows that I want three hundred in red, or $5 chips. If I' going to a 2-2 game I might say "Three red, but make twenty of it white". The white, one dollar chips are used more often in a 2-2 game and it is good to have some in front of you so the dealer is not CONTINUOUSLY making change for every player in the pot.

If I'm lucky I have a seat awaiting me at the limit I wish to play. If not I generally roll up to the bar, order a coffee or soft drink, and talk to the bartender. If I don't wish to talk I just go towards the back of the room to a very comfortable chair that is in front of an entire wall of tv's. It's nice, particularly on Saturday and Sunday when there are multiple football games, all available to watch.

Eventually my name will be called. I'll walk to the table. I have my IPOD and headphones, for when the poker talk becomes poker drivel. I'll take my seat, look around, recognize nearly everyone, and begin.

A few hours later I hopefully rack up my chips, put my headphones away, wish everyone good luck, and walk away a few hundred richer than when I arrived.

I try to get home in time to start dinner. I'm making marinated skirt steak for the grill for dinner tonight. Last night was catfish nuggets. Real catfish, hand breaded, and it was very good.

Later, after the kids have slowed down, and M is in her pajamas (another bonus), then I may go back to the card room and play for a few more hours.

I usually get home sometime after midnight and go to sleep to do it all over again the next day.

I like it. It's fun. It's allows me to have choices. That's all we all want, right? We want to be able to choose what we do. We want to be able to choose when we do things. We want to be able to choose what we say, and how we act.

Of course, if it goes badly, then none of it matters. Or does it? What would you be willing to give up for five, or ten, or twenty years of happiness?

Maybe it won't go terribly wrong. I know I will have losing periods, periods when it will be grim. But what if I don't go broke? Then, I will have won. A comfortably moderate lifestyle, a gorgeous wife who I actually like to talk to, two great kids, and a job that gives me multiple choices each and every day. Life is good.

Codsey out.