Wrestlemania: The Pilgrimage

I do a podcast. The reason I say this is because if you want to hear the particulars about my Wrestlemania trip, you can go to dominatewrestling.com and listen to it there.

Therefore, this blog isn’t going to be a recap of my Wrestlemania adventures. Far from it; instead, this will be a more introspective post (because I am introspective like a motherfucker). Wrestlemania gave me a new lease on life.

Of course, a vacation will do that to you. If you know me, if you’ve been reading this blog, you know that I really, really don’t like my job (truthfully, at this point in the juncture I don’t like to leave the house anymore but that’s another post), and so being away from it for a week really helped me out a lot. I mean a lot. So I savored the six days that we spent getting to, riding around and leaving San Jose, California. The nearly week long adventure dragged on, in a good way.

The energy surrounding Wrestlemania weekend is cleansing.  The toxicity of my job faded away, all of the burden that I carry, that I shouldn’t carry in the first place, melted away, and for the first time in God knows how long, I had returned. I felt like myself. The mask was taken off, and I got back to my essence, who I was. I had forgotten who I was.

What I’m afraid of is forgetting once again. Things are good.  I’m still riding the high of my trip, so work doesn’t bother me too much, and it should stay that way. It shouldn’t bother me too much. I keep telling myself I’ve released the power that it should’ve never had over me in the first place. Perspective. I’ve got to remember, just like Mufasa told Simba from the great beyond. “Remember who you are. You are my son and the one true king….”

I have to fucking remember.

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