I’ve been away from my keyboard lately because I spent ten days in Las Vegas taping this little game show I host. It’s not that I couldn’t have written anything from that city; in fact, I had intended to do so. But ten days is a very long time to be in Las Vegas, and by about the middle of the third day my brain had turned to tapioca.
I’m not sure the temperature ever fell below 100-degrees, even overnight, and the tinted windows of my room kept me in a constant state of twilight. The outside world meant less and less to me as each moment went by. I spent more hours than I should have in the casinos, where time doesn’t seem to count. We taped from about 3:30 till 9:30, so I never had any proper dinners. By the middle of the fifth day I had trouble picturing the members of my family, and I was sure I had been there for well over a year.
After the eighth day, I seemed to remember being born in Las Vegas, and I was quite certain I would die there. When I finally did board the plane out of town, I couldn’t remember where I was headed.
I’ve been back home for two days now, and people and places are starting to look familiar to me. I’ve even turned on my computer again and looked at the Internet. I might even have something more to write for Ricochet once the fog lifts.