Post by Ayla St. James on Jul 7, 2013 19:30:13 GMT
Are you sure you're okay? You've been in there all day.
This I know.
I'm fine.
You keep saying that. Clearly, something is amiss.
This I also know. But I promised myself I would be strong, even when I was scared to death.
It's just a flu, or a virus, I'll be ok. Don't worry.
You know saying that doesn't make me not worry, right?
Just relax, breathe, and keep telling him what he wants to hear. You'll get through this.
I am aware. But I can't be running to the ER every time I have a little boo boo.
You silly goose, that is the whole reason I have insurance. How can you be expected to stay healthy if you don't get problems checked out before they become problems?
I wish, just once, there'd be some kind of flaw in his way of thinking, so I can point it out and get him to let me do things my way.
I understand that. But last week my post match check up went fine, this is just a bug. No big deal.
A bug that you've had a few times in the last month or so apparently.
His words bit me hard, but he was right. I could feel something not right with my body. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was there. The more I fought against it, the worst the next flare up was. But what I am supposed to do? I don't need to give her more ammo to throw at me.
...Would you just accept me saying I'll be ok and leave it at that?
I heard his sigh through the closed bathroom door, and over the water running. He was as torn as I was about what to do. Torn between caring for my health and not forcing me into something against my will. The last thing I need is to come back with a note from a doctor that says I can't wrestle for a while.
One week. If you're not better by Wednesday of next week, then we're going to find out what's wrong with you. Are.. we clear?
His voice broke a little, and my heart did as well. I know Kyle trusts me to know what's best for myself, and this is killing him inside. But if I tell him what I'm looking at now..
Yes, we're clear. Thank you, honey.
What's left in the toilet after I got sick the last time..
Ok. I'll.. be out here.. if you need me.
I hadn't eaten all day, so there wasn't much solid left to give..
Thank you, babe. Why don't you order from that place you love so much? I'll take a chicken garden salad.
But there sure was some liquid...
Ok. Yell if you need anything.
Red... liquid...
-----------------------------------
You know what Katherine? Let me make you an offer. Normally, when my feathers are all in a ruffle and my back is against the wall, I come out swinging. I keep on fighting until there isn't anything left to give, and whether I'm standing tall victorious or laying in a heap of misery I can at least say that I put everything that I am on the line.
But I'm a little older now, and I'd like to think somewhat more mature than I used to be. So, what I'm going to do now is extend an olive branch. I'm going to try something new and see if that ends with a different result.
A peace offering, if you will.
I can admit that I was a little miffed at what was going on. I was confused, snarky, possibly a little too bitchy in the way I approached things. I don't regret or take back anything I said. I still am not sure why things need to be overly complicated. But rather, I only wish I could have asked you personally for your reasonings rather than blast you out in the open. I see now that I may have been too hasty in mocking you for your decisions. So in that regard..
My bad.
But, I'm a human being, and I make mistakes. So, I'm willing to own up to my mistakes and let it all be past. I'll do my job as a professional, and I won't question or fight anything you do for the time being. It's a new company, things have barely gotten settled, and rather than force you into trying to keep things in check and advance toward your goals, I'm simply going to be a big girl about it and step back so you can do what you do.
So, if you'll stop trying to break us, we'll stop trying to break you. Deal? I hope so. I think we can both agree that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and we can do with a cease fire. Frankly I've had more conflict in my professional life in a short span than anyone should have to stomach.
That was a pun, wasn't it? Oh, nevermind.
Moving on, let me state two quick things for the record before I head to the meat of the issue.
One, even though professionally losing this match would hurt my overall "ranking", I'd accept it if it meant Mike Laszlo had to come up with more excuses as to why he didn't win, or why not winning wasn't his fault. It's easy to pass the blame, easy to say "well I didn't get pinned". That just means you have no guts.
No balls if you will.
No desire to get in there when someone else needs help. So go ahead and sit there on the sidelines if Isabella pins me, just to shrug and tell the world you didn't really lose. You'll just continue to show the world that when it's time to go down fighting, you don't have the sack for it. I seriously hope that Bernard pins you, so I can stare into your eyes, knowing that it's my job to get in there and break up the fall, and choosing not to. Because I know that's what I'd get back from you. John Rherring stood up when you were having your little twitter war, and went to bat for you. You paid him back by making him a scapegoat.
Even though he wouldn't even show up, I'd rather have him for a partner than you.
Two, British guys and guns equals sexy. I know that has nothing to do with the match, but I didn't want him to feel left out.
You know what, Isabella? You're right.
I can be all sorts of things. Happy, sad, bitchy, complacent, moody, miserable, joyous, whiney, because you know, I'm human. So glad of you to notice. You could be all those wonderful things too if you weren't so concerned with playing your "standard bitch make everyone hate me 101" role. Don'tcha ever stop and think how nice it would be to just drop all that and be yourself?
Oh, wait, you can't. Because if you did, people might actually remember that you're just another person trying to get by. With no admirable traits, a flaccid personality, and her only redeeming factor is that you make every man you walk within ten feet of want to throttle your frickin neck.
Seriously, if you walking into a kitchen, grabbing a carving knife and running the sharp edge across your own throat would give a serial killer five more minutes of life with all the air you'd no longer breathe, then it would seriously be more than worth it.
You wanted advice? There it is. How nice of you to say not to judge books by their cover right before you spend five minutes judging my every action.
I may be moody and off the wall, but at least I'm not a two bit hypcrite who paints her own cover of her book then tells people not to look at it. I have my problems, I have my complexities, but at the very least I can stand here and say that I am what you see.
In that regard, I don't care about beating you in the ring, because I'm already a better person than you are. I even know what you're thinking, you're sitting there on your ivory tower saying to yourself, "oh, it's Ayla on another bitch rant", with your smug superiority complex, and terrible skin tone.
Well, you get what you give. Personally, before now, I was looking forward to facing you, seeing what made you tick. Now, I just want to bash your smarmy face into the concrete until you quit moving.
Prom Queen? News flash honey, the only way you'd win any kind of reward for poise and grace is if they planned to dump bucketfulls of cow blood on you. Except your scenario would end with you running out of the room crying and screaming about how you hate your life, rather than a massacre.
Despite what you tell yourself when nobody is around.
Argh, maybe Bernard and I should just go out for a drink and let you and Laszlo play touchy feely in the ring while arguing over who's dick is.. I mean, ego is bigger. That sounds much more fun than listening to what's going to happen. After all, one of you has to win, and the other has to lose, so either way there's gonna be a lot of blah blah blahs and excuses all around. Then again, how would that be different from any other week with the two of you involved, cripes.
Kisses to Bernard,
Fuck the rest of you,
Love, Ayla.
This I know.
I'm fine.
You keep saying that. Clearly, something is amiss.
This I also know. But I promised myself I would be strong, even when I was scared to death.
It's just a flu, or a virus, I'll be ok. Don't worry.
You know saying that doesn't make me not worry, right?
Just relax, breathe, and keep telling him what he wants to hear. You'll get through this.
I am aware. But I can't be running to the ER every time I have a little boo boo.
You silly goose, that is the whole reason I have insurance. How can you be expected to stay healthy if you don't get problems checked out before they become problems?
I wish, just once, there'd be some kind of flaw in his way of thinking, so I can point it out and get him to let me do things my way.
I understand that. But last week my post match check up went fine, this is just a bug. No big deal.
A bug that you've had a few times in the last month or so apparently.
His words bit me hard, but he was right. I could feel something not right with my body. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was there. The more I fought against it, the worst the next flare up was. But what I am supposed to do? I don't need to give her more ammo to throw at me.
...Would you just accept me saying I'll be ok and leave it at that?
I heard his sigh through the closed bathroom door, and over the water running. He was as torn as I was about what to do. Torn between caring for my health and not forcing me into something against my will. The last thing I need is to come back with a note from a doctor that says I can't wrestle for a while.
One week. If you're not better by Wednesday of next week, then we're going to find out what's wrong with you. Are.. we clear?
His voice broke a little, and my heart did as well. I know Kyle trusts me to know what's best for myself, and this is killing him inside. But if I tell him what I'm looking at now..
Yes, we're clear. Thank you, honey.
What's left in the toilet after I got sick the last time..
Ok. I'll.. be out here.. if you need me.
I hadn't eaten all day, so there wasn't much solid left to give..
Thank you, babe. Why don't you order from that place you love so much? I'll take a chicken garden salad.
But there sure was some liquid...
Ok. Yell if you need anything.
Red... liquid...
-----------------------------------
You know what Katherine? Let me make you an offer. Normally, when my feathers are all in a ruffle and my back is against the wall, I come out swinging. I keep on fighting until there isn't anything left to give, and whether I'm standing tall victorious or laying in a heap of misery I can at least say that I put everything that I am on the line.
But I'm a little older now, and I'd like to think somewhat more mature than I used to be. So, what I'm going to do now is extend an olive branch. I'm going to try something new and see if that ends with a different result.
A peace offering, if you will.
I can admit that I was a little miffed at what was going on. I was confused, snarky, possibly a little too bitchy in the way I approached things. I don't regret or take back anything I said. I still am not sure why things need to be overly complicated. But rather, I only wish I could have asked you personally for your reasonings rather than blast you out in the open. I see now that I may have been too hasty in mocking you for your decisions. So in that regard..
My bad.
But, I'm a human being, and I make mistakes. So, I'm willing to own up to my mistakes and let it all be past. I'll do my job as a professional, and I won't question or fight anything you do for the time being. It's a new company, things have barely gotten settled, and rather than force you into trying to keep things in check and advance toward your goals, I'm simply going to be a big girl about it and step back so you can do what you do.
So, if you'll stop trying to break us, we'll stop trying to break you. Deal? I hope so. I think we can both agree that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and we can do with a cease fire. Frankly I've had more conflict in my professional life in a short span than anyone should have to stomach.
That was a pun, wasn't it? Oh, nevermind.
Moving on, let me state two quick things for the record before I head to the meat of the issue.
One, even though professionally losing this match would hurt my overall "ranking", I'd accept it if it meant Mike Laszlo had to come up with more excuses as to why he didn't win, or why not winning wasn't his fault. It's easy to pass the blame, easy to say "well I didn't get pinned". That just means you have no guts.
No balls if you will.
No desire to get in there when someone else needs help. So go ahead and sit there on the sidelines if Isabella pins me, just to shrug and tell the world you didn't really lose. You'll just continue to show the world that when it's time to go down fighting, you don't have the sack for it. I seriously hope that Bernard pins you, so I can stare into your eyes, knowing that it's my job to get in there and break up the fall, and choosing not to. Because I know that's what I'd get back from you. John Rherring stood up when you were having your little twitter war, and went to bat for you. You paid him back by making him a scapegoat.
Even though he wouldn't even show up, I'd rather have him for a partner than you.
Two, British guys and guns equals sexy. I know that has nothing to do with the match, but I didn't want him to feel left out.
You know what, Isabella? You're right.
I can be all sorts of things. Happy, sad, bitchy, complacent, moody, miserable, joyous, whiney, because you know, I'm human. So glad of you to notice. You could be all those wonderful things too if you weren't so concerned with playing your "standard bitch make everyone hate me 101" role. Don'tcha ever stop and think how nice it would be to just drop all that and be yourself?
Oh, wait, you can't. Because if you did, people might actually remember that you're just another person trying to get by. With no admirable traits, a flaccid personality, and her only redeeming factor is that you make every man you walk within ten feet of want to throttle your frickin neck.
Seriously, if you walking into a kitchen, grabbing a carving knife and running the sharp edge across your own throat would give a serial killer five more minutes of life with all the air you'd no longer breathe, then it would seriously be more than worth it.
You wanted advice? There it is. How nice of you to say not to judge books by their cover right before you spend five minutes judging my every action.
I may be moody and off the wall, but at least I'm not a two bit hypcrite who paints her own cover of her book then tells people not to look at it. I have my problems, I have my complexities, but at the very least I can stand here and say that I am what you see.
In that regard, I don't care about beating you in the ring, because I'm already a better person than you are. I even know what you're thinking, you're sitting there on your ivory tower saying to yourself, "oh, it's Ayla on another bitch rant", with your smug superiority complex, and terrible skin tone.
Well, you get what you give. Personally, before now, I was looking forward to facing you, seeing what made you tick. Now, I just want to bash your smarmy face into the concrete until you quit moving.
Prom Queen? News flash honey, the only way you'd win any kind of reward for poise and grace is if they planned to dump bucketfulls of cow blood on you. Except your scenario would end with you running out of the room crying and screaming about how you hate your life, rather than a massacre.
Despite what you tell yourself when nobody is around.
Argh, maybe Bernard and I should just go out for a drink and let you and Laszlo play touchy feely in the ring while arguing over who's dick is.. I mean, ego is bigger. That sounds much more fun than listening to what's going to happen. After all, one of you has to win, and the other has to lose, so either way there's gonna be a lot of blah blah blahs and excuses all around. Then again, how would that be different from any other week with the two of you involved, cripes.
Kisses to Bernard,
Fuck the rest of you,
Love, Ayla.
Well howdy there pardner.