In the carefully constructed casinos of Las Vegas every effort is made to keep the teeming, gambling masses in a constant state of fantasy.

The halls are a Wonderland-like maze of tables and toys, clocks are conspicuously absent, time and space – even the natural light of day – are a reality at odds with this sensuous sin city.

If you ever find an exit sign and venture out into the unknown – a sun-lit Strip in the day – you’ll find the curious meeting of fantasy and reality. Neon signs reach into a clear blue sky and the Las Vegas Boulevard stretches between the Sierra Nevada mountains like a stream through the desert.

Though not exactly the same (there are fewer exotic dancers, but no less gambling), Las Vegas and its two worlds is in some way similar to my life. My writing is the Strip that bridges my public and private spheres.

Unlike Vegas however neither present fantasy. Far from it (there’d certainly be more exotic dancers and less gambling if that were the case). Rather, those that known me, that share in my experiences and read my blog are presented with reality from a different perspective.

I write this because I met a girl – a great girl – far from the Las Vegas Strip, in sunny San Diego. And I’m nervous that when she returns home she’ll Google me, find my blog and suddenly be presented with reality from a different perspective. Not to mention an archive of my dating disasters.

But I guess that this is what we gamble when we put our cards on the table. It’s like opening the door to a sun-lit Las Vegas, my flaws and follies on display.

Sometimes even there are exotic dancers.

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