"It's all one long session," my Vulcan side said. "At least play your one free hand before the blind. That's +EV."
My human side said, "Alright, but I'm folding if it's not aces."
I peeked down at my cards and found . . . aces. Two black ones.
Rats. I can't fold this.
A feeling of unavoidable doom fell on me. I had $1805 in play. Two people had me covered. I could feel the set and runner-runner gut-shot coming to beat me. I hated these aces. Maybe I could just pick up the blinds. So I made the biggest opening raise I've ever made in a cash game. $17 from UTG.
Surely no one would be foolish enough to call me . . .
Surely no one else will be foolish enough call me . . .
Rats.
Three of us saw the flop.
T
I bet out. They all folded. I increased my win by a factor of 8. I took a mental victory lap. The Ewoks danced in my head.
Is anybody really Zen about session results? Can I beat this? Maybe it's most realistic to just get the heck out when I feel the emotional tug.