Being Vulcan

I played like an arsehole last night. I have developed a worrying tendency to tilt a little bit at PLO8 if I have one of those sessions where you get no flops or turns in your favour for an hour and a half.

Worse, my biggest mistake was when I made a moronic raise at some guy who had riled me a little (not even a lot) with a comment on my play.

My two significant losing sessions lately have both featured me shoving a ton of chips into the pot out of frustration and anger and thus increasing my losses by 50 - 100%.

Clearly, once I finish work tomorrow, I cannot let this become a habit.

Drinks for my leaving take place after work tonight (people can't make Friday). I really, really wish I could just leave without fuss, fanfares or goodbyes. I've not bothered telling anyone what I am going to be doing - why would I? I'm a miserably private, unsociable, emotionally withdrawn person. Being open and emotionally available is what left me with an ex-girlfriend whom I love and cry about from time to time, and I certainly don't need any more of that.

A more rugged Tom Cruise

I went to a party on Saturday night, something I usually try to avoid. It actually turned out to be really good fun; I did a little coke for the first time in ages, and I kissed a man on the lips for the first time, ever. No, no tongues! It was just part of a hug after a very intense (and drunken) and personal conversation.

That rendered Sunday a poker washout, meaning that my mini-plateau after recent successes has continued. I still persist in playing the sit and go sets of four, even though my ROI and hourly take have declined to an embarrassing level. I really have run horribly, living in coin-toss hell and pair-over-pair purgatory (eg. I have the bigger pair), occasionally popping for light relief to the bubble torture chamber. Never mind, this too shall pass.

Today was my last Tuesday at work, ever. I must be charting new territory in worktime websurfing.

Photographs of bloggers, after you have read them for some time, can be disconcerting. Lord Miros writes one of the funniest poker journals around, and comes over as a grizzled forty-something, with permanent five O'clock shadow. Yet his recent links to photos revealed him to actually be a pink-skinned public-school-looking type, almost certainly several years younger than my own youthful thirty-x.

I won't ever be putting a picture here, even after one of my photos was recently shown to a woman who then declared me to look like 'a more rugged Tom Cruise'. Yes, honestly. And come on, you'd put that in your blog if somebody said it about you, right?