There is nervousness when sober, waiting for the first drink of the night. Maybe it's all the coffee. The inability to nap. Yes, work was done. Things were accomplished. I was able to completely wreck a coffee maker before I really woke up. But this is happy hour. I need something to drink. And, I need some real food. The resort bar is inviting.

There's a wedding reception going on next door. Or in the adjoining room. Not a huge one, but this is a resort. How many could actually afford to stay here at regular prices? Even in the off season? But I'm no wedding crasher. I'm not even much of a bar fly. I can't milk a drink for long. I have to down the fuckers.

And tonight, it's the blue margarita. Because, well, I have beer in the room. And the pool drink thing? Punch and maybe a little rum. Sucker bet. Of course, the blue margarita is pre-mixed, but hey, I didn't bring tequila with me. There's something in it. When I whip my head around to look at the mountain, I'm a little light headed. Of course, we are at 10,050 feet. This altitude, I think, takes a little getting used to.

She's from Denver. A real estate agent (which, I think, helps her get free rooms, if nothing else). Two children. And, I think, not even 30 yet. But that's just my feeling. She might be older, but there is something. Something of a yearning. There always seems to be in these girls with kids. They lost something when they were way too young, and they want it back.

Can't get it back, though. Can't take innocence back. Can't take anything back. You just have to get over it and move on. And I always meet them without the children. They seem to be without the children always. But really, it's just when I meet them that they are without.

And they never tell me directly they have kids. They tell someone sitting next to me. In this case, a little girl who is in the bar with her father. The father getting some happy hour drinks for outside by the pool. The little girl is excited to be on vacation before school starts up. But also excited for school to start. Everything is exciting or scary when your age is in the single digits. The real estate agent tells the little girl about her kids, glancing at me for my reaction.

I'm sure they love their kids. Even if this is something they would, if permitted, go back and change. Or maybe it was the way it happened. Or the way the man left. I always think this is what they feel is their fault. Their problem.

Kick his ass, Liza Doolittle! Because the guy, the one who made you who you are, he doesn't care. He got what he wanted. And isn't that the story?

Isn't that the thing with these girls (only girls because they are younger than me, but they are women, they can't really be girls anymore)? They love their children. The children they still have even though the guy has gone. But they want to be truly single. In the middle of the night. In the middle of the conversation. In the middle of meeting the new guy, they want to be truly, and completely, single. Alone.

But, if they were in their late 20s and single (truly alone), they would be, even in this late day and age, old for being single and truly alone. In some kind of weird social way, it would be strange for them to be never married with no children in their late 20s. It's different for girls.

It's the need for a different life. To feel a different feeling than they usually do. The responsibility, they don't want it all the time. But then, none of us do. None of us can be around ourselves without thinking there is something else. Or someone else. Or that we could be someone else. But we aren't.

It just seems like I see it more in these single mothers. This sense they feel like they missed something by having their kids. Even though they love their kids.

So two blue margaritas and a roast beef sandwich down, and I know that's it for me. I'm no bar fly. Not even when I'm staying a few hundred steps away. Not even when I've got the cash to be one. Not when the guy she's gonna sleep with later is serving me the drinks. So I tip well, I say too much and stumble out.

I'm that guy. The guy who says he's a writer. Who says he's a musician, too. Which means he's trying more than one line at a time. Which is too much. Too much to believe. To cling to. And so I stumble away, wondering if it's the drink or the altitude. Wondering why the devil I'm feeling smashed at six o'clock when I've only had two drinks. But not really, no, not really, I mean, it's maybe. It's the drink and the altitude.

The card key works, and I'm back in the room. So I pop a beer. It's still early. Happy hour is over, but the night is just beginning.

And Liza Doolittle, finding herself in a life she never thought she'd be in but always thought she wanted, is dreaming of a life she left behind so long ago. Because there was an innocence then. There was hope. And now she is wondering where she fits in this new world.

Matt Worley is on vacation this week.