Disclaimer : I do not know nor am I affiliated with the WWF or the Hardy Boyz {blah blah blah all that good stuff :) }
The Sun On My Face
Sitting in the hotel room.
Looking out the glass doors at the world outside.
I'd be sitting on the balcony, enjoying the sunshine, except that there's a crowd of girls down in the parking lot who start screaming every time they see me. How can I sit out there with a bunch of females ogling me like I'm a piece of meat?
So I sit in this plush armchair, resting in the grip of fame and fortune. The only thing that mars the perfection of my day is the fact that I can't feel the sunshine on my face...well, that and my shoulder hurts like hell. I dislocated it the other night. No biggie, I just popped it back in the socket and went on with my match, except that it's really sore now. Surprisingly enough, the rest of my body feels fine. That's a first. Usually there's something...well, something continual, I mean. Not something unexpected like this aching shoulder.
Matt asked me if I wanted to go with him down to Adam's room and play video games, but I said no. I've got my Dreamcast in here if I want to play, and I'm a little tired of doing the same old thing, day after day. We always go down to Adam's room to play video games. I sort of feel like writing poetry right now, but I decide against that, too. If it sucks, I'll hate it, and if I ask somebody's opinion, they'll tell me it's wonderful, and then I'll hate it even more because I'll know they're lying - something I can't stand.
Have you ever noticed that? When you're just another person, nobody famous, everyone is so quick to tear you to pieces. It's so different when you are famous. Your supporters think you can do no wrong, your anti-fans criticize your every move, but overall, there's a healthy respect for you - with the exception of this girl I met the other day. I don't remember her name...but she told me, "You know, I'd give anything to be in your position. You're living your dream, you're a success."
I told her, "You don't know what you're saying."
She said, "Yes, I do. You're the one who doesn't know. You don't know what you're missing when you don't appreciate what you have."
Come to think of it, her reply didn't really make sense. It seemed a little hypocritical to me, since she was the one who was saying she wanted to live a life like mine, rather than appreciating hers. But it really got me to thinking. Where would I be right now if it wasn't for wrestling? I did well in school, yeah, but I'd never really found my groove...I might have been an artist, but hell, I'm no Van Gogh, I'd probably just be a starving artist. Maybe a poet or an author. Now that's an idea. I've submitted my writings to several publishing companies, and they all wanna publish them, except that they don't want to publish them because they're good- they want to publish them because they're written by Jeff Hardy of the WWF's Hardy Boyz. That bugs me. I guess I could submit under an alias...is that illegal? Who knows? Maybe someday I will.
I doodle on a notepad as my thoughts wander. You know, with the lights out and the doors shut, I almost feel like I'm in a cage. A gilded cage. Ha! The gilded cage of fame. Now there's an idea for a poem. I smile as I flip to a new sheet of paper and begin to write.
That's one good thing that comes of all this torturous seclusion. I get a lot of ideas for poems. This one's gonna be the best yet, though...I wonder if I should post it on the site? I haven't submitted anything lately, but the fans might think I'm unappreciative if I don't. I don't want them to think that. Then again, maybe some of them will understand...like always, there's a few who are just like me...I'm not talking about the so-called fans that defend me when I do something wrong, just because I'm me. I'm talking about the fans that shake their heads in disgust when they find out I've screwed up again, but stay fans all the same. It's strange, but I love it when people acknowledge my faults. I didn't used to, but fame changes a lot of things. These days, I feel like screaming, "I'M NOT PERFECT! YOU CAN STOP PUTTING ME ON A PEDESTAL!"
But of course I don't. Because the fans that do put me on a pedestal wouldn't listen anyway.
I stop writing and stare out the window, wishing I could feel the sun on my face.
She had been right. That girl, I mean. What would I be doing right now if it wasn't for wrestling? Nothing...well, nothing that I'd want to do. I could never handle a 9-5 job, and I couldn't picture myself not wrestling.
I stand and walk to the door, wondering again what it would feel like to have the sun on my face.
But then, what's stopping me? I toss down the notepad and pull open the doors, closing them behind me as I step outside.
The girls have left. I guess they got tired of waiting. So I sit in a plastic chair and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my face.
Maybe it isn't a gilded cage after all. Maybe I just choose to make it that way. Amazing how just a few moments of thinking can change your entire outlook. I wonder if other people do this, or if I'm just strange. That girl was right...I've worked hard for this, and I should appreciate it while I can. At any rate, I know I won't take it for granted again.
The End
The Sun On My Face
Sitting in the hotel room.
Looking out the glass doors at the world outside.
I'd be sitting on the balcony, enjoying the sunshine, except that there's a crowd of girls down in the parking lot who start screaming every time they see me. How can I sit out there with a bunch of females ogling me like I'm a piece of meat?
So I sit in this plush armchair, resting in the grip of fame and fortune. The only thing that mars the perfection of my day is the fact that I can't feel the sunshine on my face...well, that and my shoulder hurts like hell. I dislocated it the other night. No biggie, I just popped it back in the socket and went on with my match, except that it's really sore now. Surprisingly enough, the rest of my body feels fine. That's a first. Usually there's something...well, something continual, I mean. Not something unexpected like this aching shoulder.
Matt asked me if I wanted to go with him down to Adam's room and play video games, but I said no. I've got my Dreamcast in here if I want to play, and I'm a little tired of doing the same old thing, day after day. We always go down to Adam's room to play video games. I sort of feel like writing poetry right now, but I decide against that, too. If it sucks, I'll hate it, and if I ask somebody's opinion, they'll tell me it's wonderful, and then I'll hate it even more because I'll know they're lying - something I can't stand.
Have you ever noticed that? When you're just another person, nobody famous, everyone is so quick to tear you to pieces. It's so different when you are famous. Your supporters think you can do no wrong, your anti-fans criticize your every move, but overall, there's a healthy respect for you - with the exception of this girl I met the other day. I don't remember her name...but she told me, "You know, I'd give anything to be in your position. You're living your dream, you're a success."
I told her, "You don't know what you're saying."
She said, "Yes, I do. You're the one who doesn't know. You don't know what you're missing when you don't appreciate what you have."
Come to think of it, her reply didn't really make sense. It seemed a little hypocritical to me, since she was the one who was saying she wanted to live a life like mine, rather than appreciating hers. But it really got me to thinking. Where would I be right now if it wasn't for wrestling? I did well in school, yeah, but I'd never really found my groove...I might have been an artist, but hell, I'm no Van Gogh, I'd probably just be a starving artist. Maybe a poet or an author. Now that's an idea. I've submitted my writings to several publishing companies, and they all wanna publish them, except that they don't want to publish them because they're good- they want to publish them because they're written by Jeff Hardy of the WWF's Hardy Boyz. That bugs me. I guess I could submit under an alias...is that illegal? Who knows? Maybe someday I will.
I doodle on a notepad as my thoughts wander. You know, with the lights out and the doors shut, I almost feel like I'm in a cage. A gilded cage. Ha! The gilded cage of fame. Now there's an idea for a poem. I smile as I flip to a new sheet of paper and begin to write.
That's one good thing that comes of all this torturous seclusion. I get a lot of ideas for poems. This one's gonna be the best yet, though...I wonder if I should post it on the site? I haven't submitted anything lately, but the fans might think I'm unappreciative if I don't. I don't want them to think that. Then again, maybe some of them will understand...like always, there's a few who are just like me...I'm not talking about the so-called fans that defend me when I do something wrong, just because I'm me. I'm talking about the fans that shake their heads in disgust when they find out I've screwed up again, but stay fans all the same. It's strange, but I love it when people acknowledge my faults. I didn't used to, but fame changes a lot of things. These days, I feel like screaming, "I'M NOT PERFECT! YOU CAN STOP PUTTING ME ON A PEDESTAL!"
But of course I don't. Because the fans that do put me on a pedestal wouldn't listen anyway.
I stop writing and stare out the window, wishing I could feel the sun on my face.
She had been right. That girl, I mean. What would I be doing right now if it wasn't for wrestling? Nothing...well, nothing that I'd want to do. I could never handle a 9-5 job, and I couldn't picture myself not wrestling.
I stand and walk to the door, wondering again what it would feel like to have the sun on my face.
But then, what's stopping me? I toss down the notepad and pull open the doors, closing them behind me as I step outside.
The girls have left. I guess they got tired of waiting. So I sit in a plastic chair and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my face.
Maybe it isn't a gilded cage after all. Maybe I just choose to make it that way. Amazing how just a few moments of thinking can change your entire outlook. I wonder if other people do this, or if I'm just strange. That girl was right...I've worked hard for this, and I should appreciate it while I can. At any rate, I know I won't take it for granted again.
The End