I'm probably the only person on Earth who dreads going to Vegas for her birthday. Most people look forward to a trip like this for weeks in advance. I constantly hear my coworkers excitedly planning what casinos they're going to hit and what clubs they'll dance in until dawn. Not me. Here I am, ready to hit the road at the break of dawn, sullenly wishing I was going anywhere but Sin City. I don't really expect anyone to feel sorry for me; it's just that I've been there (and done that) sooo many times before, and it's just not my scene.
Why go year after year, then? It's quite the conundrum. I could easily skip it, but if I want to spend my birthday weekend with my Mouse, I have no choice. This is a big work weekend for him; an event he can't afford to miss. And so, I begrudgingly tag along.
The sun hasn't even peaked out over the horizon yet, and I'm gassed up and ready to go. I'm headed east, through the suburban sprawl of inland California, into the Mojave Desert. Maybe my mood will lift along with the fog, and I'll be able to convince myself that this is going to be a good weekend, after all.
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