Monday, November 18, 2019
It was not Central Illinois, I knew that for sure. The first
recollection of the dream was taking a seat, talking to a mark about El
Phantasmo versus Robbie Eagles from Best of Juniors from this year, the
mark holding it higher regard than the worker of course.
Then the venue changes to a place with high enough ceilings for a ring,
and I was frustrated by the glass pawn/jewelry shop like displays where
seats should be. Maybe you could fit the Women of Wrestling Ring in it
(I swear that is 12' by 12' whenever I see those with skills equal to
mine on AXS TV). The executive vice presidents and Chris Jericho are all
talking about merch, obviously, and plans for All Elite Wrestling.
As for me, it felt like I was being blatantly left out of the goings on.
They wanted me there, but did not have a reason. Was it a display of
respect that I had paid my dues despite having nothing to offer them?
Was it a way of mocking me because I would never be allowed to pursue my
first passion? The prior sums up how I feel about the Chicago wrestling
scene that I gave my all to get into. The latter sums up how Downstate
refuses to give me an opportunity to because I was trying to get better
rather than get over with the salt of the Earth. You know...morons.
I woke up disturbed and feeling helpless. 45 minutes before my alarm was
set for an opening shift did not improve my mood. Breakfast is a meal I
tend to skip and social media was not a good place for a depressed
person to be. Going back to sleep could have two consequences: pride
that I did it or anger because it just felt pointless.
I did my best to come up with the least desperate-sounding tweet:
Woke up from a dream and now in an #existential crisis. I am pondering if I let my empathy get the best of me. It seem I was either used up or considered an idiot for it.
Why would anyone like that on Facebook? At least this plea got more of a
response than the ones where I ask everyone to migrate to Twitter.
In the end, I brushed my teeth before I made coffee was the result. So I
get on the road to head to the job, arrive 20 minutes before we can
open the place, drive to kill time (and unfortunately gas before I head
to Peoria for a dentist appointment), and buy a five-dollar coffee
drink. Damning my attempts to be fiscally wise seems to be the only
thing I excel at, and it is something those closest to me love to remind
me of.
The time spent between waking up and fucking up was spent pondering why I
get locked out of everything I want to be a part of. Of course I think
back to the beginnings of the pursuits and how they all went to shit.
With wrestling, it started by my desperate nature to get into it after
college that I was an errand boy from guys to dim to call con men. It
turns into doing anything to get the new ownership's promotion over
while they would not put me into a position to succeed because of my
ambitions to make a living in the business.
In the meantime, you are tied to the whims of the guys who want to say
they can get you booked elsewhere, but they never really had any plans
to put you in a good spot. They knew your reserved nature kept you from
demanding promoters' attention, so they would exchange a ride and food
to serve as your agent. The moment my life got tough, the moment they
found another ride.
I trusted the wrong people, there is no question about that. What one
can ask is whether I was so giving because I thought it would serve my
own ends. All I can say about Downstate wrestling is that, at some
point, all of these people were my friends. And we all part of the same
team, and I wanted the team to succeed. If I knew away to help out, I
would help out. Even when the rift between my goals and theirs started, I
would still work on trying to make the product better.
The dream just brought back that feeling of being ignored. If I am going
to be ignored, why am I even going to be there? Because I am told
otherwise.
Unfortunately, this has been the majority of my adult life outside of
wrestling. My best friend inspires me to write about my crazy journey
and wanted to make it into something greater (comic book was the initial
plan). She was feeling abandoned and Stacia, the first person to
encouraged to chase my dreams, had died before I could make her proud.
We supported each other through a hard time.
Once she got her confidence back, she went back to the shitty people who
were supposedly influential and left me without a support system. My
family were just hoping I would grow up and leave wrestling. Supporting my dreams was not an
option, hence the desperation to devote three-years of athletic health
to Peorians playing super hero. That was not appreciated as anyone
telling me not to grow up should not be worthy of my time.
Growing up is all my family wants me to do. I guess I should be grateful
for their dedication to those hopes because I do not know if I can
figure out how. If I am not going to be happy, why would I want to do
it? Writing and wrestling are what I love. Video games and movies are
fun, but they are just that. Working a job, regardless if it is good or
not, just to sit in front of the TV feels like a waste of life.
I have to spend money on the moment to stay sane and to fund any chance I
can to get involved with my passions. If I succeed, the differences
will be made up. The problem is that I do not know how to and no one is
willing to help out a guy, who will not let another person suffer, if they
can help it.
And to that last statement, I get ridiculed for giving a shit about
people who are important to me. It could be said that perhaps a majority
of these people did not deserve my help, but I have an Anne Frank
disposition. If a person will can be the best they can be because of my
efforts, then it will be worth it.
Perhaps I am not empathetic and I am just a shitty gambler. Gambling is
an addiction that is very difficult to be a functioning addict.
I think back to the time and money spent on ineffective therapy and
realize my therapist's approach. If I grew up (swallow my pride and beg
my dad to get me back into Caterpillar), I could then find happiness. It
makes sense in the fact I was already suffering in life, what could a
nine-to-five do to make my life any worse?
Coping is quitting and it could be argued that coping had already taken
wrestling from me. And this dream just made me realize that I may only
be doing that right now. I have mistaken my efforts to survive as
actions to thrive. The girlfriend, the cats, and the good job are not
me.
My job is new and does not really serve my skill set. I took it because
my previous hospitality job (whom is still fucking with me after I
rejected their offer [or lack there of] from the BBB...and had now
finished my FTC complaint), made my position impossible to tolerate
(Once the guests declared I was the manager without any knowledge of my
pay, it was time to go). If I would have waited out my lease, I could
head to a city where the hospitality business would be something worth
showing passion towards. Instead, I am just making a living now and
hoping happiness will just show up. Hope is for the helpless, so I am
angry at myself.
It is a good, maybe even great job since I can blog...at least as of
this moment, but the only inspiration to want to climb the corporate
ladder is money. Dedicating my time to moving into management instead on
what I am already passionate about feels wrong. Feeling like I need to
stay at this job a year before I can figure out my next move is enough
dedication, especially when you come home without any sense of
accomplishment and questioning if you are getting the most out of life
otherwise.
If I was not broke all the time, the weekends could be mine again.
Surely I could then find one Downstate promoter to give me a chance.
But, I would be broke and further digging myself in a hole.
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