Ow.
12:30a, Post-Apocalyptic Bad Guy Fight
Well this has certainly been an interesting day. I was in my first ever MAJOR gunfight. My first ever car chase. I felt the exhiliration of succeeding at making someone do exactly what I told them to do...only to have it backfire in my face. Twice. I need to truly learn that the consequences of my actions aren't always what I imagine they're going to be. I helped to protect an innocent family. I poked a toe into one of the dirtiest places I've ever been in.
I almost saw one of my new friends die.
And I almost died from a gaping chest wound provided by a freakishly green glowing sword that materialized out of nowhere.
I'd say that definitely qualifies this day as interesting. But as I sit here, barely able to move on my bed surrounded by stuffed animals and nibbling on sweet potato casserole topped with vanilla cream (it's my comfort food, you know)...I know I would do it again in a heartbeat. I chose this lifestyle. Chose the risks...chose the danger. I thrive on it. Somehow, I was born to be this person I am. This person that lies, manipulates, and pulls at the heartstrings of others. I've lost so many friends because of it. I've hurt myself and those around me. I've caused love to turn to hate...caused fear and hopelessness.
If I can turn this...power...that I have over people into something good, then perhaps someone Upstairs will consider redeeming my actions at some point down the line. For I bear tremendous guilt for some of the things I've done. I don't know that I'll ever forgive myself for Hank. If Trance had died in the fight earlier today, I would never have forgiven myself. I most likely would've been asked to be reassigned. I don't know if I'm cut out for this "out on the front lines" business, darling diary. I can't take the beating that my three men can. My job is to not let us get into the fight. I did a grand ol' job of that today.
I ramble, as I often do when Matthew McConaughey is on my television beaming at me. He should fear the day that he finally meets me. He won't know what hit him. He'll just wake up in my apartment, and he'll forget the world around him and just look in my eyes and melt and wrap his arms around me and...
Rambling again. I guess the point of my tirade is that I've learned a lot. No more ordering big, nasty, ugly villains to drop their guns. Especially when they have mysteriously lightsabre-like swords popping out of thin air. I sweet talk BEFORE the fights. Not during. During, I withdraw to the darkness of the shadows behind my men and trust their judgment. Just like they trust my judgment when we have "conversations." And I really, REALLY need to improve my shooting. Melinda would be ashamed of me.
This mission SHOULD be called a success. No one's dead. The murderers are in jail. Why, then, do I feel like such a failure?
Well this has certainly been an interesting day. I was in my first ever MAJOR gunfight. My first ever car chase. I felt the exhiliration of succeeding at making someone do exactly what I told them to do...only to have it backfire in my face. Twice. I need to truly learn that the consequences of my actions aren't always what I imagine they're going to be. I helped to protect an innocent family. I poked a toe into one of the dirtiest places I've ever been in.
I almost saw one of my new friends die.
And I almost died from a gaping chest wound provided by a freakishly green glowing sword that materialized out of nowhere.
I'd say that definitely qualifies this day as interesting. But as I sit here, barely able to move on my bed surrounded by stuffed animals and nibbling on sweet potato casserole topped with vanilla cream (it's my comfort food, you know)...I know I would do it again in a heartbeat. I chose this lifestyle. Chose the risks...chose the danger. I thrive on it. Somehow, I was born to be this person I am. This person that lies, manipulates, and pulls at the heartstrings of others. I've lost so many friends because of it. I've hurt myself and those around me. I've caused love to turn to hate...caused fear and hopelessness.
If I can turn this...power...that I have over people into something good, then perhaps someone Upstairs will consider redeeming my actions at some point down the line. For I bear tremendous guilt for some of the things I've done. I don't know that I'll ever forgive myself for Hank. If Trance had died in the fight earlier today, I would never have forgiven myself. I most likely would've been asked to be reassigned. I don't know if I'm cut out for this "out on the front lines" business, darling diary. I can't take the beating that my three men can. My job is to not let us get into the fight. I did a grand ol' job of that today.
I ramble, as I often do when Matthew McConaughey is on my television beaming at me. He should fear the day that he finally meets me. He won't know what hit him. He'll just wake up in my apartment, and he'll forget the world around him and just look in my eyes and melt and wrap his arms around me and...
Rambling again. I guess the point of my tirade is that I've learned a lot. No more ordering big, nasty, ugly villains to drop their guns. Especially when they have mysteriously lightsabre-like swords popping out of thin air. I sweet talk BEFORE the fights. Not during. During, I withdraw to the darkness of the shadows behind my men and trust their judgment. Just like they trust my judgment when we have "conversations." And I really, REALLY need to improve my shooting. Melinda would be ashamed of me.
This mission SHOULD be called a success. No one's dead. The murderers are in jail. Why, then, do I feel like such a failure?
posted by Sari Mitchell at 11:08 AM
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