Viva Lost Wages

Oh. My. God. Did I just fall back in love with Las Vegas?

I rubbed my eyes and shook off my nearly six(!) hour flight. Thanks, headwinds.

Las [insert expletive here] Vegas.

A rush of emotions filled me silmutaneously.

First — happiness. I was seeing some of my closest friends in the world after a year of being apart and entire lifetime of change.

Second — anxiety. I was only in town for five days. Would I be able to see everyone that mattered to me?

Third — dread. It was my birthday. I was there to celebrate my birthday. But, I really, really liked being 30. I wasn’t ready to usher in another age of wisdom in exchange for the Year of MyLife. And yet, there it was.

Fourth — lust. This used to be MY city. I knew it inside and out. I had come into my own there. I had grown-up (for all intents and purposes) in Las Vegas. It was my home. I was comfortable there.

My home. Yes, I just thought that.

Shake it off, D.

And then, there was Kyla with her 7-year-old son, Presley, in tow, scooping the very emotional me.

As soon as I saw Kyla’s SUV pull up at Passenger Pick-Up, my eyes began to water.

Kyla jumped out of the car to hug me, and then we quickly hopped into the vehicle, ready to get our night started.

Of course, the entire way home, she and I caught up on our lives. I gave her a rough (rough) synopsis of my trip to Europe. Fortunately, she had read some of my blog so she knew the nuts and bolts … I just filled her in on the down and dirty details I kept more or less private.

“Do you remember me?” I asked, turning to the little blonde-headed, blue-eyed boy in the back.

“Yeah,” said Presley, dead serious. “I haven’t see you in 486 days.”

“Well, not that long … but close enough,” I said, smiling.

He was only a little off in the number of days.

“Welcome back!” Kyla said as we pulled up to her house.

Home.