Post by adm on Jul 30, 2011 10:07:38 GMT -6
And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total?
Tillie Olsen
It all floods back to me like a dream. I can't quite recall every detail, but the path to this moment, the path to Sunday, it all intertwines like the winding creeks that form the greatest rivers of the world. I am sitting here, in my hotel room, contemplating what will happen tomorrow night, and the room is dark, lit only by static on the television screen. I have purposefully changed the channel to one that is blank, only because in it, I can find my way.
Two Years and Six months ago, I was sitting in Leonard Fox's office. He is staring at me, looking me over. I'm scared, my body quivers noticably. Will he accept this "normal" man, dressed in a business suit, with no experience in wrestling besides being a lifelong fan? He goes over my resume, he sees my allusions to IRS from back in the day and laughs. I don't know whether it's good or bad that he's laughing, I've never done this before. He smiles, and I am eased. He says I'm fit for competition, he thinks I'll do great things.
Two months ago, I returned. Leonard Fox extended another offer to me to return after a year away. He knew I wanted to come back, he just needed to give me time to forget my mistakes enough to feel I had it in me to return. He's a good guy, Leo. Sometimes he gets a bad rap. Just like Gib and Angel and the rest. They are only dicks when it suits the ratings, but in real life they are all very good people. At least to me they are.
Two weeks ago, I was furious. Bob Pooler had ducked out of a clothesline, and I failed to stop myself. Allyson Gardener was knocked from the apron. I didn't mean to. I become furious, I glare at Pooler. The ref is calling for the bell, I begin to talk to him, trying to plead for a second opinion. But it's too late, the match is lost, Pooler won by trickery. I become even more furious when he ducks out of the ring before I can catch him. All the rage, the frustration, I NEED to take it out.
Roxxie doesn't see it coming. She turns around as she takes the side exit near the fans. I lay into her. I want to make her pay for what Pooler did, since he has disappeared. My vision is filled with his face instead of hers. I want to bloody it, I want to break it. I want to destroy it. Then he comes, with fans and security to take me away from the situation. He smirks, he got the best of my rage. He got the best of me, and my confusion. I wish I could apologize, but it's too late.
The static on the television illuminates my body, half-naked, covered in the scars of my career. I think about what I've been through to be here, starting over again. I run my fingers over the biceps and pectoral muscles I have turned from flab into rock-hard muscle. I used to be fatter, untoned, now I look like one of the guys on Muscle and Fitness. I'm thirty-three years old and I look better now than I did when I joined. Why am I still facing mediocre competition?
One week ago, I failed to comprehend the rage I had to subdue. It was a week after the incident with Gardener and Roxxie, and Pooler was looking to make me suffer. He kept faking a tag to me, slapping me in the face to tag. I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped the ropes. The ref was calling me to go back into my corner. Yes, I'll go back, but first...I pull Pooler around, as he spins I grab his head under my arm and dive down. CPU Trouble, and his head hits with a massive thud. I want to put him in the Suffocating Cubicle, but the damage is done. I walk away, and though I lost, I knew he deserved to take the fall. This time, he'd be the one laid out in the ring. This time he got a taste of me. And it's not going to be pretty for him, I think. Picture Perfect will destroy him.
Time is an odd thing, I can think of the past so easily, I can reminisce. But i also know the future. In an hour, after telling the cameras to go away, I will enter the gym. I will work out for two and a half solid hours, go eat, rest for an hour to let it digest, then return until I go back to the hotel for my last night's rest before tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I will walk through the curtains to boos. Everyone thinks Pooler is so great after he saved Roxxie, the whore. It's not my fault, it really isn't. It's his, he set it all up. They are oblivious to his trickery. I've become smart to it, and he will pay. I will begrudgingly take my title back from the referee after I decimate and humiliate Bob Pooler, thus laying to rest our two months of friendship that turned to a feud. He will not bother me for a long time after this. One month from now, I'll most likely be facing Spike Kane, and I'll most likely lose and allow his story to unfold as a return from the brink. After school special, I know, but it's the way it will be.
Yesterday, I had lunch with Johnathan Burr, my old friend. It had been so long since I had seen him, I missed the man. He offered me advice, and set me upon a path of reflection.
Last night, I visited a church for the first time in years. I needed to talk to someone, someone not of the psychological profession. Someone to possibly tell me I am wrong about myself. He was of no help. I wanted to drown him in the Holy Water for turning me away when I told him that I thought God was dead. He yelled at me. Told me I was going to Hell. That I belonged in San Francisco and its cesspool of sinners.
Fifteen years ago, I was graduating from High School. As I sat next to my friends and enemies in Alphabetical order, I heard someone snicker. "That's the homo. He's never had a girlfriend, he must be gay." It tore me up. I began to cry. Why were they tormenting me for being unsuccessful with women? I was too intelligent, too concerned with my extra curricular activities. I was in band, I was involved in debate, I was on the AP and Honors program. I didn't have time for the unintelligent floozies that the jocks and stoners dated. I couldn't find anyone to even come close to matching me in conversation, though I had a few dates, I just couldn't find anything to work. I cried, my eyes became red, and I was the only one who approached the stage with tears in my eyes. Everyone thought I was just happy to get my diploma, it was a great ruse, but the pain remained.
Twenty-four hours from now, I'll be on my way to the gym again, to get in some final cardio and practice before the match. I need to be in the best shape to make the best example. I will practice my best moves on a sparring partner, and I will make them hurt like I want to make Pooler hurt.
Twelve years ago, I was at a college party. My first real girlfriend had dumped me and I was getting very drunk. She claimed I was too fruity, too nerdy for her. I hated her now, I wanted to slit her ****ing throat. She was the librarian intern at the school, taking classes for music and not really caring about the philosophy, business, or classical literature courses. She was a slacker, and I was better off, I thought. The alcohol flowed heavy. Johnathan was there, he guided me to a room to take a load off. The room was spinning. He left me to sit in a chair. It became hot, I took off my shirt. I didn't know why, but I was feeling so warm I wanted to undress. Another man came into the room, I was so drunk and the room was spinning. I blacked out as he approached my chair.
Twelve years ago, Fifteen years ago, tomorrow, today, yesterday, two weeks...all of it blends together when I'm alone. My mind races through the days and weeks that have left behind. I begin to feel the rug pull out from under me, the ground crumbling. I need to make my mind stop. I need to pull it out, pull my ****ing brain out. I shakily grab the nightstand drawer and pull it open. I quickly unscrew the cap of the Jack Daniel's fifth and begin to drink. I only take enough to qualify as a shot, maybe two, before I put it back. The room begins to level out, my thoughts become less chaotic. I feel more normal again. In an hour, I'll be at the gym, drinking lots of water to distill the effects of the sudden post-breakfast drink to calm my calamitous mind. I need to stop drinking, I need to find a better way to handle it. I need to figure myself out.
Tomorrow night I will be at Picture Perfect. I will take the Honor Title there, I will leave with it. My fate is sealed, and there is nowhere I can go until someone worthy can take the blasted thing away from me. I am stuck, in this rut, in this hole, like every time I have been handed a title. Stuck until I can find my freedom again. And with that freedom, I can finally find myself.
A man's true secrets are more secret to himself than they are to others.
Paul Valery
Tillie Olsen
It all floods back to me like a dream. I can't quite recall every detail, but the path to this moment, the path to Sunday, it all intertwines like the winding creeks that form the greatest rivers of the world. I am sitting here, in my hotel room, contemplating what will happen tomorrow night, and the room is dark, lit only by static on the television screen. I have purposefully changed the channel to one that is blank, only because in it, I can find my way.
Two Years and Six months ago, I was sitting in Leonard Fox's office. He is staring at me, looking me over. I'm scared, my body quivers noticably. Will he accept this "normal" man, dressed in a business suit, with no experience in wrestling besides being a lifelong fan? He goes over my resume, he sees my allusions to IRS from back in the day and laughs. I don't know whether it's good or bad that he's laughing, I've never done this before. He smiles, and I am eased. He says I'm fit for competition, he thinks I'll do great things.
Two months ago, I returned. Leonard Fox extended another offer to me to return after a year away. He knew I wanted to come back, he just needed to give me time to forget my mistakes enough to feel I had it in me to return. He's a good guy, Leo. Sometimes he gets a bad rap. Just like Gib and Angel and the rest. They are only dicks when it suits the ratings, but in real life they are all very good people. At least to me they are.
Two weeks ago, I was furious. Bob Pooler had ducked out of a clothesline, and I failed to stop myself. Allyson Gardener was knocked from the apron. I didn't mean to. I become furious, I glare at Pooler. The ref is calling for the bell, I begin to talk to him, trying to plead for a second opinion. But it's too late, the match is lost, Pooler won by trickery. I become even more furious when he ducks out of the ring before I can catch him. All the rage, the frustration, I NEED to take it out.
Roxxie doesn't see it coming. She turns around as she takes the side exit near the fans. I lay into her. I want to make her pay for what Pooler did, since he has disappeared. My vision is filled with his face instead of hers. I want to bloody it, I want to break it. I want to destroy it. Then he comes, with fans and security to take me away from the situation. He smirks, he got the best of my rage. He got the best of me, and my confusion. I wish I could apologize, but it's too late.
The static on the television illuminates my body, half-naked, covered in the scars of my career. I think about what I've been through to be here, starting over again. I run my fingers over the biceps and pectoral muscles I have turned from flab into rock-hard muscle. I used to be fatter, untoned, now I look like one of the guys on Muscle and Fitness. I'm thirty-three years old and I look better now than I did when I joined. Why am I still facing mediocre competition?
One week ago, I failed to comprehend the rage I had to subdue. It was a week after the incident with Gardener and Roxxie, and Pooler was looking to make me suffer. He kept faking a tag to me, slapping me in the face to tag. I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped the ropes. The ref was calling me to go back into my corner. Yes, I'll go back, but first...I pull Pooler around, as he spins I grab his head under my arm and dive down. CPU Trouble, and his head hits with a massive thud. I want to put him in the Suffocating Cubicle, but the damage is done. I walk away, and though I lost, I knew he deserved to take the fall. This time, he'd be the one laid out in the ring. This time he got a taste of me. And it's not going to be pretty for him, I think. Picture Perfect will destroy him.
Time is an odd thing, I can think of the past so easily, I can reminisce. But i also know the future. In an hour, after telling the cameras to go away, I will enter the gym. I will work out for two and a half solid hours, go eat, rest for an hour to let it digest, then return until I go back to the hotel for my last night's rest before tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I will walk through the curtains to boos. Everyone thinks Pooler is so great after he saved Roxxie, the whore. It's not my fault, it really isn't. It's his, he set it all up. They are oblivious to his trickery. I've become smart to it, and he will pay. I will begrudgingly take my title back from the referee after I decimate and humiliate Bob Pooler, thus laying to rest our two months of friendship that turned to a feud. He will not bother me for a long time after this. One month from now, I'll most likely be facing Spike Kane, and I'll most likely lose and allow his story to unfold as a return from the brink. After school special, I know, but it's the way it will be.
Yesterday, I had lunch with Johnathan Burr, my old friend. It had been so long since I had seen him, I missed the man. He offered me advice, and set me upon a path of reflection.
Last night, I visited a church for the first time in years. I needed to talk to someone, someone not of the psychological profession. Someone to possibly tell me I am wrong about myself. He was of no help. I wanted to drown him in the Holy Water for turning me away when I told him that I thought God was dead. He yelled at me. Told me I was going to Hell. That I belonged in San Francisco and its cesspool of sinners.
Fifteen years ago, I was graduating from High School. As I sat next to my friends and enemies in Alphabetical order, I heard someone snicker. "That's the homo. He's never had a girlfriend, he must be gay." It tore me up. I began to cry. Why were they tormenting me for being unsuccessful with women? I was too intelligent, too concerned with my extra curricular activities. I was in band, I was involved in debate, I was on the AP and Honors program. I didn't have time for the unintelligent floozies that the jocks and stoners dated. I couldn't find anyone to even come close to matching me in conversation, though I had a few dates, I just couldn't find anything to work. I cried, my eyes became red, and I was the only one who approached the stage with tears in my eyes. Everyone thought I was just happy to get my diploma, it was a great ruse, but the pain remained.
Twenty-four hours from now, I'll be on my way to the gym again, to get in some final cardio and practice before the match. I need to be in the best shape to make the best example. I will practice my best moves on a sparring partner, and I will make them hurt like I want to make Pooler hurt.
Twelve years ago, I was at a college party. My first real girlfriend had dumped me and I was getting very drunk. She claimed I was too fruity, too nerdy for her. I hated her now, I wanted to slit her ****ing throat. She was the librarian intern at the school, taking classes for music and not really caring about the philosophy, business, or classical literature courses. She was a slacker, and I was better off, I thought. The alcohol flowed heavy. Johnathan was there, he guided me to a room to take a load off. The room was spinning. He left me to sit in a chair. It became hot, I took off my shirt. I didn't know why, but I was feeling so warm I wanted to undress. Another man came into the room, I was so drunk and the room was spinning. I blacked out as he approached my chair.
Twelve years ago, Fifteen years ago, tomorrow, today, yesterday, two weeks...all of it blends together when I'm alone. My mind races through the days and weeks that have left behind. I begin to feel the rug pull out from under me, the ground crumbling. I need to make my mind stop. I need to pull it out, pull my ****ing brain out. I shakily grab the nightstand drawer and pull it open. I quickly unscrew the cap of the Jack Daniel's fifth and begin to drink. I only take enough to qualify as a shot, maybe two, before I put it back. The room begins to level out, my thoughts become less chaotic. I feel more normal again. In an hour, I'll be at the gym, drinking lots of water to distill the effects of the sudden post-breakfast drink to calm my calamitous mind. I need to stop drinking, I need to find a better way to handle it. I need to figure myself out.
Tomorrow night I will be at Picture Perfect. I will take the Honor Title there, I will leave with it. My fate is sealed, and there is nowhere I can go until someone worthy can take the blasted thing away from me. I am stuck, in this rut, in this hole, like every time I have been handed a title. Stuck until I can find my freedom again. And with that freedom, I can finally find myself.
A man's true secrets are more secret to himself than they are to others.
Paul Valery