I'm in Vegas to see Morrissey. This is my last day and night here and Morrissey is playing at the Hard Rock tonight. The last five days have been a challenge. I was fighting a cold and missing my dogs who help keep me sane. I have had a bad case of separation anxiety. My oft posed question to my husband was, "Would it be too weird if I called the doggie hotel to check on Frodo and Chewbaca again?" His response was a head nod many times over and despite his opinion, I texted the hotel more than once. In response, the sweet dogsitter (who obviously owns a dog hotel and thus must be used to the anxious fur parent) sent me pictures of my fur babies that only made my yearning worse.
As a result of my melancholy, I was back in our hotel room by nine p.m. all nights except one. On New Year's Eve, I rallied to stay out until almost two in the morning. It was a struggle to pull it together to party that night and I kept thinking to myself, what is wrong with me? Where is the party girl? Maybe she never existed at all. Vegas is supposed to make you feel young again, but I just feel old.
Clearly, I am slowing down. My party days are likely behind me (I say likely because never say never dear reader, this old grey mare may rally again). I think that is a good thing. I'm tired.
The last days here in Vegas have given me an epiphany. That epiphany being that I just want to be home. Home with my husband (who is here with me but we are discombobulated in Vegas with all the smoke, gambling and alcohol) and our two shih tzus doing what we do on a daily basis.
The lines from an old poem of mine come to mind, "It's the ordinary rote routine of life I crave. What some call humdrum, I name bliss."
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