Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Soaked Sponges with Dirty Water

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA

9:30pm. Been a long few days and I've been caught up in my own little world that I forgot that I hadn't posted here in a few days, but it's not just been here, because my poker section has been gaunt because I haven't been playing cards (gambling on sports or commodities instead) and I'm not feeling like being a talking head or a pundit in poker with so much more important stuff going on in the world, which is why Tao of Fear has been the main focus on my attention.

I'm sitting in my office after barely touching dinner. I really dig this Indian joint in Beverly Hills that Nicky found. They serve the best samosa I've had in America and they make it from scratch. The Indian joint is kinda cheap considering the posh neighborhood. Usually, I'm excited to eat it once a week or sometimes once every 5 days, but tonight I sorta picked at my dinner...because... I had too much on my mind...I wasn't hungry...and I had too much on my mind.

After dinner, I locked myself in my office while Nicky watched American Idol. I finished editing a couple of freelance pieces and I still have a few more hours of work to do before I fuck off for four straight days, get snookered, and gamble on college basketball. I have mixed emotions about March Madness this year. In the past, I was always super excited about this time of year because I gambled heavily and the outcome of the next few weeks determined on what type of summer I'll have, meaning, if I win a shit load of money, then I'll have a blast on Phish tour and blow all my winnings on travel and fun stuff, but if I lose, then I'll have a more laid back summer because I'll have to dig into my savings to travel and see Phish, something I'd rather not do with a gloomy financial forecast in the future.

The world is hanging together by the thinnest of threads, so many insane worst-case-scenarios are whipping around my head, that all of that internalized fear mongering has kept me occupied. The last few weeks have been intense between finishing up edits on Jack Tripper Stole My Dog, and the recent waves of civil unrest in North Africa and the Middle East, and as of last Thursday night, the Japan apocalypse hat trick (Earthquake, tsunami, nuclear meltdown), and I've been bogged down in disseminating thousands of pages of info trying to find out what's really happening. It's exhausting and as a result I'm caught up in a odd funk -- I'm not quite depressed, I'm actually the opposite but I'm feeling guilty about trying to enjoy myself living in the moment, so I've been caught up in this weird in-between phase of emotions, sort of like having a subdued celebration. Hence, why I drank rum for 49 days in a row.

I snapped the streak by accident. It wasn't supposed to happen like that --- I was simply too busy with catch-up work and writing on Sunday night that I had worked late in the night and by the time I was done around 4am on Monday morning, I was too tired to even make myself a drink, but not even cognizant of the streak until the next day when I figured out -- holy fuck -- I've drank even day for seven weeks straight and something like 56 out of the previous 60 days going back to the trip to the Bahamas. It's been a while since that's happened -- summer of 2007 when I covered the WSOP -- because I had the worst assignment I've ever had since I got into poker in 2004 and I drank every day at dinner time to shake off the day's tilt that accumulated.

I'm going to do everything to relax and stay off the multiple laptops over the next four days -- by staying off, I mean I'll use them as extra TVs to stream games that I bet on, but won't use the laptops to dick around the internet and watch documentary videos about the evils of the Fed Reserve and the shadow banking industry. Instead, I'll use Twitter via my CrackBerry to unleash my inane thoughts on sports betting into the cosmos, but I really want to enjoy basketball and be in the moment, instead of being chained to my laptop with my hands on the keys and one eye on the TV screen.

I had been trying to string together a nice run before the tournament started. Over the weekend, I went 4-0 in my bets. The money didn't matter as much as the confidence boost. But that went away on Tuesday when I put out some feeler bets and went 0-4. A fucking donut. Fuck me. I had bet small, which mattered because it meant that I wasn't blowing my wad before March Madness began, but it sucked to stumble into the tournament on a blah note.

I'm a little worried for one of two reasons...
1) I'll wake up on Thursday with the "fuck it" voice inside my head that has been calling the shots the last few weeks, which is why I've spent a longer stretches getting blotto because that's the realist in me saying that I know it's the end of the fucking world is coming (at least in a severe paradigm shift in which our contemporary life of leisure, peace, and prosperity is replaced by increased crime, nonstop violence, and constant displacement) so I better party it up while I can because in a few years I'm gonna be up shit's creek wishing that I spent my last days partying like it's 1999 instead of worrying about the controlled demolition of western civilization that I cannot stop, so that guy in my head will entice me to bet more recklessly -- betting over my pre-set limits or making too many bets...


2) I'll wake up and feel completely unmotivated to gamble and make bad bets by not doing as much research as I should because I'll be feeling that with so much other more vital stuff going on in the world that the entire concept of March Madness is futile, so I'll feel guilty about rotting my life away on the couch by brazenly throwing hundreds of dollars at meaningless outcomes of games.

Alas, I'll guess I'll have to wake up tomorrow and see what kind of mood I'm in because it will set the tone for the day -- I'm either going to be raging hard, or continuing my subdued celebration and drink silently while wallowing in my own guilt.

Fun times ahead, eh?

Dammit. This is what happens when I delve into fear mongering and existentialism for too many hours. I'm a sponge and I soak up whatever light or darkness is around me. Gotta wring it out and start from scratch. Tomorrow would be a great day to start.

No comments:

Post a Comment