we're ALL mad here [WC: 700]

The more we get together, the happier we'll be.

Does anyone remember that little ditty from grade school? The melody shows up at the end of Spinning Wheel by Blood, Sweat & Tears. It's been stuck in my head for days, repeating over and over – so maybe it's a message? Maybe it's a reminder that I was full of shit when I said on Twitter that I "don't play well with others". I did. I was successful and this week I've got spoils of that triumph.

Go me?

I don't delude myself that there's any huge cheering section for me. I am part of the latest thing to hit the wrestling ring – personae non gratae, personified – #MadClan, baby.

Nobody cares, I know. I'm a has-been. I'm useless. The places I go fold up quicker than TP an hour after Taco Bell consumption. True story. OCW is no more. Trinity was absorbed – dissolved, really – by Action Wrestling. For narrative's sake, let's go back a bit further. My last two championships won in Victory Wrestling (2017) and Uprising Fight (2016). Ever heard of either one? Nope. You haven't. 

Am I bad luck?

Do I just make poor life choices? That's a hard one to answer. On one hand, you could call the fall of Trinity serendipitous. Greener pastures. Better opportunities, huge roster – I'm quite capable of both SEEING and EMBRACING the bigger picture here. I walked into a sure thing. All I had to do was lean on three other random nobodies to do the heavy lifting and walk out smelling like a rose. That's how it's perceived, I'm sure. QDT's "team". What a joke. 

You don't know me.

How often has that been said, I wonder?

Do I deserve a third chance to rejuvenate my failing career? What have I done to earn it? I outlasted most of the Trinity roster and some faceless nobodies to almost win that battle royal. I was instrumental in that tag victory last week. I won every match I had in Trinity. My only loss this year was to Hayley Robinson, a woman trained by the original HellRaven.

Have I done anything remarkable? How do I quantify the things I've done without sounding like a pompous asshole? If anyone knows, drop a line. I haven't figured it out yet. I mean, it's out there. You can Google, find my Wiki page – it's mostly accurate. And that's the trouble, isn't it? I assume you'll do that due diligence but how many actually will? Show of hands?

Watching tape.

I still say that, even though it's been digital for years.

Watched everything I could find on QDT. Saw his explosive arrival and I know what I'm up against – BEST EVER in the division. Most reigns. Blah, blah, blah. OHEMGEE. I'm scared. Très intimidant.

I watched VHS – on YouTube (lulz). I had a nap. I watched a Bolas highlight reel. All this time wasted and I almost want to mourn it. Almost. I mean, I won't because what else was I going to do with it? Gaze into my navel for a while? Compose more hymns to my greatness for the crickets to sing?

(insert rolling of eyes here)

Perhaps I'm going about it backwards?

No breadcrumbs left. No jagged edges to give you a clue. It's too random, isn't it? There's no cohesion. Nothing you can latch onto.

I shouldn't be so deep, right? I shouldn't be able to call myself on my own bullshit – they never want a thinker out there. But I'm the sum of all the parts. I'm the product of everything that's been thrown at me over the years. All your faults are in me.

All your faults.

I'm supposed to just open my mouth, let the stupid shit fall out like a good little girl. I'm no Mad Queen. I'm no catalyst for a cause.

I'm not CARNIVOROUS. I'm vegan, if anyone cares – yes, I know it's not relevant.

Who am I?

A self-inflicted wound, at best.

I'm an athlete.

A basket case.

A criminal.

Haven't you figured it out, yet?

We're ALL mad here.

--K