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Chad
04-13-04, 01:40 AM
I finished my last promo less than an hour ago. The cameramen have packed up and the house is empty, or at least the gym is. I've just been sitting here, just sitting here, on the bench, for at least fifteen minutes. I've been watching my hand, held out just in front of me, shake ever so slightly, but uncontrollably.

"Damn it."

It doesn't happen often anymore, but there's not much I can do once it does. Except breathe deeply, grab some water, and ignore the phantom twinge in my knee that keeps getting stronger and stronger, even though it isn't real.

But it still hurts. Or at least my brain says it does. But it's not real. I don't need a pill, or a drink, or anything else to dull it. IT'S NOT REAL.

If I think it loud enough, maybe I can convince myself. The twinge is now a throb, and it doesn't seem to be going away.

I finally get up off the bench and try to walk it off, knowing as I do that it's not going to make a difference. But the pacing, the simple effort of it, helps give me something, anything, to do.

The breathing, the water, the pacing... none of it's going to work. It never does. Nothing will but getting to a meeting, something I hate in the front of my mind, and love in the back. As I start to towel down and change, I hit the number 12 speed dial on my phone. It's not my favorite call to make, but like the meetings, it helps keep me grounded.