ball of lightning [dot] com

Back from Turning Stone, and boy howdy, am I still the poster boy for bad luck/beats.

Picked up AA 4 times, and KK once this weekend. How many times did I win with them. Zero. Yes. Zero. I got outdrawn every single time. Five times. Five losses. I still haven’t quite gotten over how amusing that was. And the kid sitting next to me got even MORE of a kick out of it. Good for him.

AA #1 - loses to a set of 3’s
AA #2 - loses to a flopped flush (I had the A of diamonds, another one didn’t come)
AA #3 - loses to a person who calls my large bet (I flopped a set of aces) with a gut shot straight draw needing a 10, hits on the next card. When someone mutters “I have to see another card” after you raise them big time, and then they go from check, check to ALL IN! there’s a loud, audible “Fuck” at the table.
AA #4 (my favorite) - loses when FIVE hearts hit the board and I do NOT have the ace of hearts. The six high flush won.
KK - loses when I end up against AA and QJ suited– ironically the QJ hit trip queens.

Why did I keep playing anyways? I mean, there was the hand where I limped with 8-9 diamonds because no one raised, flop comes Jd Js 4d. Check around. Turn is a 7 of diamonds. I make my flush and pick up a gut shot straight flush draw. I bet. Fold. Fold. Fold. Except for this one female who thinks she can run with us. Raise. I reraise. She flat calls the reraise. I doubt she’s got the flush– I’m thinking maybe trip jacks. River comes a red 10! Woooo—- fucking heart. Alright, so I still have my flush so I bet, she reraises massively. What the hell, I wonder. I keep having in the back of my mind her playing A-2 diamonds or something dumb like that so I just flat call the raise instead of coming back over the top. I show my flush, with the ooh’s and ahh’s of the near straight flush. She then non-chalantly turns over JJ. That’s right, quad jacks. Why anyone would check in mid position with JJ at a table when she KNEW that 3 or 4 players (mostly tight) were going to see the flop. That smarts. Or smarted. Or smote.

Then there was the hand where I raised fairly substantially preflop with A-10 suited. Now I normally hate raising with A-10 suited to the extent I did, but hey, late position, a bunch of limpers– it can’t be THAT bad, can it? Got one caller. Flop came 10-9-7, 2 spades. I pick up top pair, nut flush draw. Suh-weet. I bet, get smooth called. Next card out, 10. Oh man, nut flush draw, and trips top kicker. Again, bet– smoooooth call. River comes king of something, not a spade. I bet, and get INSTAraised. I mean insta. It was like him and I combined “bet” and “raise” into one word. Fuck, what the HELL does he have? Did he hit his king perhaps? Did he slowplay a set he hit, or a big pocket pair. Either way, like an idiot, I have a bad feeling, but call him anyway. “What did you beat me with this time?” I ask. He turns over 8-6. Unsuited. He called my raise with EIGHT-SIX off and flopped the straight. Good for you buddy– good for you.

There were other bad beats I took– AJ loses to KJ after we both hit the jack and he two-pairs with his king on the river. I kicked in a set of jacks when the flop came all hearts and another heart hit the board– you KNOW someone’s calling down with just that ace of hearts. I flopped two pair with jacks and tens– turn paired the board with deuces, and an ace hit on the river– aces up won.

The most overtly obvious reminder Jesus sent me to stop playing poker had to be my last hand of the weekend. After my KK was crushed, I move in in the dark with what little chips I have left (no respect of course, everyone who had already called, calls my raise). Flop comes 10-6-4, turn is a K, river is a J. At this point one guy bets out everyone else, so he wins the side, and me and him are heads up for the main. I turn over one card, 6! That’s a pair! I turn over the next card; it’s also a 6! That’s a SET! Not too shabby if I do say so myself. Well, turns out Mr. Raise with J-4 sooted, and call an all in with A high at the turn has 10-10. Fantabulous. Everyone is raping this guy left and right– he’s just a corporate moron with money burning a hole in his pocket, and the one hand I would ever so like to win, I have a nice hand, and somehow he ends up with his best hand of the day.

–

So anyhoo, moral to the story is– I’m unlucky. Or something to that effect. I wasn’t down a terrible amount, a bit less than $100. My winnings from Party Poker for the summer more than covered it. It was more or less a trip to get my mind straightened out, and calmed down. Funny story is that I have completely loss all anger of losing at poker anymore. I’m not sure it’s a good thing, but all I did was smile and muck my cards every damn time someone took something down against me. Other players at my tables loved me– I don’t know why, with my incessant rambling, off-topic conversation, and random, snappy retorts. Whenever someone else left the table, it was no big scene, but when I left the table, there were pity remarks (of course because of the impressive losses), handshakes, jokes, grins, and pats on the back. I bump into one guy who I played at 1-3 earlier in the night in the bathroom, and he’s going on and on about how I’m welcome to join his home game anytime– they could use the comedy. As for my mind, I’m still not quite 100%, I think it’s still going to take some more time, but I hope I’m getting there. Being depressed is no fun. Then again, losing at poker is no fun. Maybe being depressed IS losing at poker or losing at poker IS being depressed? I don’t know– whatever.

Feeling a bit better the last couple of days.

But for starters, let’s make something clear. No, I am not going to committ suicide. Trust me people, if I’m going out, there are going to be flames, fireworks, explosions, monkeys, and a CNN news copter involved.

But depression aside, it’s off to Turning Stone for the weekend to probably lose money til my heart’s content. OK, maybe more positive thinking– I am the fucking best poker player that’s ever lived, Doyle Bronson can suck my left nut. (Yes, I know I spelled it B-r-o-n-s-o-n.) I WILL WIN A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF MONEY THAT WHEN CHANGED INTO PENNIES WOULD FILL AN ENTIRE DUMP TRUCK. That’s better.

Have a nice weekend, maybe next time I’m here my slow recovery will be a little more complete. Or I’ll just be more depressed than ever. Oh well, there are strip clubs in Verona.

… all of you.

So I’m still gloomy. Whatever.

I talked to two very important people tonight. There was a pseudo-breakup (why it even felt that way, I have no clue– I fell too far into my own dreams I suppose, or led myself to believe too much) and there was a murder (backstabbing, anger, frustration, lies, disdain– all from a close friend). I spelled some things out clearly, no metaphors, no analogies– I let them know how I felt, why I’m acting like I am, and what they can do. And you know what, I feel even worse than I did before. I thought I made some things clear, but then I went and confused myself even more. Well, what I did was confuse myself as to what I wanted, but since I know what THEY think, I guess my mind has already been made up for me, I really never had another choice, no matter what I thought. I’ll just need time to accept it. I still am not sure what to think, part of me says “you did the right thing,” but then I can’t fathom how much it hurts that I had to go and change things, and not just be happy with what I have, maintaining the status quo, so instead of having something, anything, I risk ending up with nothing– a waste of emotion, time, money– life. A couple people I’m frustrated with are not trying to do me in, they just couldn’t see through my face, I didn’t make myself clear enough apparently. I’m pretty sure I can’t and won’t stay angry at everyone I’m presently angry at forever. But it rips me to know that through actions, intentional or not, I’ve altered some relationships forever. Forever is an awfully fucking long time. It will never be like it was 2 weeks ago, or 2 months ago, or 2 years ago, will it? Fuck. All I have are memories of things that never existed and I came out one step closer to the end of my life. Was I right to take a chance, or open my mouth when I probably could have kept it shut? I followed my heart, not my head in a stunning change of thinking and it’s led me to ruin, to a crippled version of myself. Great. Do I deserve this? Do I need this? Am I right, am I wrong? I’ve made a lot of uncharacteristic choices lately, thinking I was doing the right thing, but apparently I was not– I’m still not quite sure how it shook out in the end.

I wish too hard that I could do it over– restart 2005 (hell, make that 2004) with the knowledge I’ve gleaned in the last 24 hours, but I took some wrong turn in January, and it’s led me down this road. Get another serve, and hopefully not double-fault? Nope, God says “Here’s your lesson, and might I remind you that your clock is ticking.” Time just moves forward, I can’t take back words or actions. I can’t turn around– I just have to keep driving, and my regrets may still be endless. I’ve made my bed, now I have to lay in it. Yet another one of life’s annoying, cruel lessons I’m pretty sure. Not 100%, it’s just a gut feeling. Then again, my gut has been far from 100% lately. I don’t know how much I trust it anymore– all it’s done is bring hardship, heartbreak, anger, sorrow, and regret into my life.

Maybe I’m closer to the answer, but the more I sit here, the farther away I think I am.

Merit Pools has they’re good ol’ summer “thank you” dinner tomorrow. And per the usual, my boss is going, “Oh bring some nice girl, we’re paying anyway.” So the search begins, and to no one’s surprise, I make NO progress. Today’s repeated response: “Oh, you’re a nice guy and all, but that sounds a little too much like a date, sorry…”

1.) It’s not a date. It’s a FREE dinner for you.
2.) What the fuck is the problem if it WAS?

To have like five people tell me this, even if I could care less, is– uh– not good for the confidence. And understandably, it probably IS a bit awkward to invite people to my company’s dinner for no real reason, but Lord knows that this hasn’t happened over the last however long . This ridiculous run of nothingness when I actually am being SERIOUS over the last couple of years is ridiculous. I tried flowers, I tried nothing, I tried buying, I tried asking, I tried passive, I tried aggressive, I tried quickly, I tried slowly. I’ve tried being horribly subtle, or overtly obvious. I’ve tried people I know, I’ve tried people I just met. I tried people who were close to me, and those I haven’t talked to in forever. Every single time I make any sort of advance whatsoever it’s “Uh, you’re a great friend (awkward pause) uh bye.” Every time– I’m so beyond sick of it. Even when I’m not interested in someone, they take a passing comment the wrong way and BAM suddenly it’s “Uh, don’t even think about it.” Talk about a plus for the confidence– girls I’m not even TRYING with are shooting me down. Nice.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? Should I put Linkin Park lyrics is my profile and go “oh life is so fucking dark, blah, blah fucking blah.” Do I need to try and see how many girls I can fuck to draw attention? Should I just sit here and do NOTHING?!? Should I try harder, should I not try as hard? What the hell did I do the everyone loves to “hang out” with me, but if I even imply anything else, BAM, no more talking to me. Should I get drunk every night of the week and stand on a table pounding my chest or something. Hell, even the drunken Asians get more chics (drunk OR sober) than me. And everyone tries to make me feel better– “Oh, life will shake itself out someday.” Fuck someday. I’m tired of waiting. I should move to Canada or something and start over. Start over where the standards are lower I suppose, because somehow they’re not low enough– or too low. I don’t know actually.

Seriously, for every chic who’s been like “meehhhh, no,” only to end up somewhere else 2 days later, I hope you end up with some drunken bastard who ends up not giving a rat’s ass and beats you every night. Cruel, huh? I wish just one person would tell me “Uh, you’re really not a bad guy– I could see myself in a relationship with you at some point in my life,” and actually mean it, none of this feel-good crap from other friends trying to make me feel better. I don’t care if I hate that person, want them dead, anything, as long as it’s the truth, and I know that it’s possible.

Well, that made no sense. But it’s just one of those nights where’s there’s all this good material in my head to write about, but it’s just going too quick. My thoughts are too fluid, and I’m vacillating between different moods by the second.

Yeah, I thought I kicked that depression streak too, whaddya know? So it wasn’t just my friends. They are only a PART (wow, that’s uplifting) of my overall shit life right now. If only I could find the Prozac. I’m tired of being so fucking nice and respectful and courteous and cheerful and helping and getting jack in return. I’m doing something wrong, even though I’m pretty sure I’m doing a whole lot better than most people. Fine, something needs to change. And action must take place. Who knows maybe the old me is gone now, I try to bring him back but I can’t quite reach him– he might be dead forever. Fuck 2005. This has been such a waste of a year, what a fucking summer, what a summer indeed.

New theme. Trying to make better use of WP 1.5. Will tweak eventually. Not like any more than 15 people read this a day anyhoo.

6 hours. 192.6 miles. Northwest Connecticut, western Massachusetts, eastern New York state. The mother of all random drives. Though I did wuss out and turn around before I got relatively close to either Vermont or New Hampshire because I have pools in the morning.

These “road trips” of mine are a fairly frequent occurrence– but not usually to this extent tonight’s was. I do them randomly, an idea spawned because I got lost one night. I listen to music, clear my head, think about the past and the future, etc. Hooray for not having to pay a shrink. Thank you Ford Contour.

Tonight’s was different though. I left Sky Top (shitty lanes I might add) at around 9:45, went to Sunoco to fill up the tank (somehow I was only there for one pump– my car has a faulty fuel valve that usually triggers the auto shutoff prematurely causing me to want to kill people while waiting years to fill the car– not tonight). Then rather than turn left down East Main, I went right, as to not wait to cut through traffic. And then I drove by Torringford, then past Merit, and turned left onto 183. Why? No reason I suppose. So off I was, on my great ride to end all rides. Well I suppose I could have juiced it up more. Maybe if I do one from Cornell, it’ll be international. Canada. Back to the topic at hand though. So I kept riding 183, through Winsted, through dark and mysterious Connecticut, over the Massachusetts border, then meandered through Great Barrington, up north. There was Pittsfield, Mass and Stephentown, NY. There were loops that brought me back to a starting place, and roads that led to nowhere.

So what good did it do me. Probably none. See, I’ve been in this minor emotional funk (as noted by previous posts) that is not really, uh, typical of my mood. Last time I was this sulky for this long a period of time was, quite frankly, never. It’s been probably a good solid two weeks now, just a general malaise, and indescribable feeling of sunkenness; like my whole body is wilting. (My note: damn I should go back in time and write some random piece of literature that children will be forced to read in high school when I use amazing diction like that) I’m still not at the root of the problem. I have come to the conclusion that’s it’s a general concoction of things, both from here and my other life (Hell in Siberia).

I’ve kept trying for the last week to pin the blame on some new, and somewhat interesting Cornell developments. Mainly, should I stay or should I go? Well, those were put to bed on Tuesday, with me ultimately deciding that, sure, we’ll give it another good solid run and see what happens. But that’s not the point. The point is that I have other issues causing this melancholia. And what’s even more aggravating is I’m not sure how to solve them, or when they’ll go away.

… I’m not sure why it affects me. It’s not something that was on full tilt, or something that had been there forever, or that I didn’t see coming. It’s weird. It’s almost like through months of my nightly routine I almost expected something to happen. It’s somewhat of a desire, but more of an expectation. Weird. Why? I really don’t know. I’m not sure how big of a factor it is gnawing into me, or why it is in the first place. My mind keeps drifting, back and forth, back and forth. Time heals all wounds, right?…

… I miss them. I miss it. I miss the fireworks, and random conversations, and blatant stupidity, and everything else that came with the life. I hate not seeing them, I hate not reaching out to them. I’m not sure what to do– we’ve all moved our separate ways, but my separate way is stuck in the middle. Halfway there, halfway back, and no one to pull. Dammit pull…

… So we don’t know what it is. It should be nothing, but what if it’s not? Not this young, not now, and if it is– I might just go off. It’s a scare for sure, I can’t see fate biting this family in the ass again, but hell, bad things just keep happening and we get dazed, and keep on moving forward, stumbling a bit more every time…

I don’t know what else to make of them, other than I wasn’t too sleepy when I started this, so I decided to begin a post, and now I’m drop-dead tired.

I don’t know why I write, or who reads, but whatever. My shrink is free.

Better? Maybe.

Better AT GOLF? Yes.

What do I want? No clue anymore.

What do I need? See above.

Excited? Meh.

Scared? Nope.

Options? Iowa, I suppose.

Smoothed over? With a few wrinkles.

Surgery? Hopefully not.

Going to take the money and run? Is that an option?

Hey, hey, what would happen if I watched too much BET?

This.

I’ll stand up, lift my head above the ground, and give it yet another shot. Shot. Gun. Bullet. Foot. Three strikes I’m out.

Do it again, I dare you.