| Wrestling With Insomnia; A Prelude to Cardinal City | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 6 2017, 01:39:55 AM (45 Views) | |
| Damon A. Gilchrist | Dec 6 2017, 01:39:55 AM Post #1 |
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November 21st, 2017 1:34 am Portland, Oregon The Apartment The small hours were never kind to Damon Alan Gilchrist. While most people were fast asleep in their beds, the Welsh native often found himself staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t a matter of an overactive mind, nor any real measure of stress; if he was being honest, he lived a rather charmed life until he set out on his own. While that venture hadn’t gone the best, it still wasn’t all that bad. No, the truth of the matter was...he just never could get that much sleep. While rarely worse for it, the inability to sleep tended to bring about the nasty habit of internal review; a questioning of his life choices, the paths he walked and the company he kept. It was as he laid in bed on this particular night that he couldn’t help but find himself wondering as the muted sounds of video games from the living room filtered through the paper maiche walls and into his brain that he found himself wondering the greatest question of all. What the fuck am I doing here? It was a common question, he supposed. After all, who wasn’t prone to a bit of late night existentialism? Much like others, though, he couldn’t quite find a suitable answer. Back home, things were…challenging, but decent enough. He was set to go to university, study something or other and get a decent paying job. Maybe find a woman, put a ring on her finger and knock her up: the cycle of life shit. The expected. However, that had all gone amiss. Now? Now, he was in Portland, Oregon-over four and a half thousand miles from home- engaging in the daily grind. Literally, the daily grind-he worked days at a dime a dozen ‘indie’ coffee shops. When he wasn’t smelling like overpriced coffee and baked goods though, he found himself moonlighting as a wrestler. The thought of being called a ‘wrestler’ made a weak chuckle pass through his lips as he lay wrapped in the ‘comforts’ of cheap, itchy Wal-Mart sheets. It all seemed like nonsense, really. He worked for a few shitty, bargain basement shit-show promotions around Oregon. While receiving some solid enough training, the fruits of his labor had only gotten him bookings in places that hardly paid enough money to cover the trip there and home with little other luxury along the way. It certainly didn’t pay the bills. It certainly didn’t give him a lifestyle worth writing home about. All it gave him was soreness and a general, undefined sense of accomplishment that was fleeting as soon as he left the ring to the distant approval of the twenty five or so fans that might’ve shown up on a given Saturday afternoon. The question presented itself in his head once more. What the fuck am I doing here? Yet again, he couldn’t find an answer. How he had even found himself in the sport seemed to be impossible to explain. He wasn’t a fan by any measure. He didn’t have heroes growing up, nor did he have any real aspirations for greatness. He wasn’t making up for some kind of perceived failings in another line and substituting one dream of greatness for another. It was all a matter of being in the ‘right’ place at the right time. A bit of frustration at his current situation in life, someone saying that they knew a place to get some of that out. An exercise session turned into a try out, which then turned into training and then a ‘job’ opportunity. It wasn’t something he expected to fall into, let alone make any decent living at. If he was being exceptionally honest, he still didn’t really love it. He only really enjoyed it because it gave him an excuse to be a hooligan and get away without any legal discourse. Right now though? It seemed as though it might be the only solution to the problem of an aimless existence. As a dismayed cry of ‘bullshit’ echoed through the apartment, Damon took a moment to curse whoever introduced his room mate to Overwatch before he rolled over onto his side. The idea of pushing that particular career further along seemed...sketchy at best. Unreliable. Uncertain. However, there was always the chance of something better. The chance of improving his standing in the world. He might not have particularly felt passionate about wrestling, but if it could get him out of the doldrums of the life he found himself in now? Maybe, just maybe, he thought as he closed his eyes and tried to force sleep to take him, it’d be worth it. Edited by Damon A. Gilchrist, Dec 6 2017, 01:40:29 AM.
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4:17 AM Jul 11