In the Box Too Long: Schrodinger's Undesirable Cat is Tripping Balls

Enter the dream state of a guy who spent the better part of a year determining if I was alive or dead to the world.

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 the 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.

Read the rest of this blog and other stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies