And what do we do? Why, we spend 14 hours at the track to make one aborted run. Tire shake and a hard left ended our day. But tomorrow is a new day, two new chances, and a more forgiving transmission waiting in the trailer.
I miss my boyfriend, with whom i've been trading text messages and all-too-brief conversations all day. He's at my house, with my animals and my computer, while I sit in this bland hotel room with my brother's laptop and a six-pack i picked up from the am/pm across the way. There's a "Tacos Mexico" here too, but the food is not as good as the "Tacos Mexico" at home. I believe that this is because Las Vegas is further away from Mexico than southern California.
I've come up with the solution to my compulsive gambling. As soon as I get back in the hotel room from the racetrack, I immediately change into my turquiose green "troll" pajamas. Nothing will convince me to go out in these.
