Sunday, June 6, 2004
He presses the pen to the paper for the final number, four. He releases, and thinks. A few lines down, he writes.
I thought I knew what it was like to have problems in my life. Through the last year and more, I've had nothing but problems. Most recently, those problems seem to be growing nearer and nearer. But I've come to find out that its not all about me. There are others out there with problems as well. For me, a few bruised ribs, stitches in my forehead, the headache I'm having now.. its all apart of life. When I lost the International Title this past week, it was just apart of life. The new champion will hold it proud. Hold it high. Hold it. I won't. But not everything is ours to hold, I think. We do hold our lives in our hands each minute of the day of the month of the year of the lifetime.. we are the holders of that, but do we hold the little bits that make up life? I think not. Why else would my sister have to go through what she's gone through to this point. Oh.. it angers me so much. I feel as if I should be acting on this anger rather than writing about it. But then again, that's why I'm writing this, to take my mind off of her. Damnit.. damnit.. I hate this shit, this life, this world, the people around me. A voice in my head says to write more about Jenna.. but I feel as though another tells me not to. Another voice tells me to stop writing, and start getting prepared for my match against The Starchild. I cannot worry about The Starchild right now, though. I cannot worry about NWO now. Why did I ever worry about NWO? Why did I ever worry about retaining my International Title? Why did I... why... why stop now? Because I can. But I won't.. I shouldn't. Afterall, this gives me something to do. I'm tired of sitting in front of cameras, cutting promos, when it seems to get me nowhere. I'm tired of doing what is common, what is supposedly 'the right thing'. Screw 'the right thing'. Screw doing things on everyone else's time, hell, this is MY time. This is MY life. And if I let others control how I run my life, does it have meaning? Kind of like Jenna, and her troubles- no- --- I'm not going to continue.. I need some sleep.. we'll continue this another time. Life without meaning is meaningless but the meaning of life is unknown.. right? Wrong? Yes?..or no?
The pen is lifted from the paper, and the scene fades..to..black.
The paper, white, clean, lined. The pen, lightweight, clear on the bottom but black on the top, a ballpoint, black. The pen hits the paper, ever so smoothly. The writer places somewhat of a title on top, yet it is not. On the top left of this page, he writes: