January 19, 2002
Here I am alone on a Saturday night, the fallout of a relationship breakup. I'm sitting on my couch in flannel pajama pants, a ratty old t-shirt and socks, drinking alone. Hell, I'm halfway through my second six-pack of beer. I couldn't even tell you what kind it is, all I know is it's alcoholic. And I'm well on my way toward becoming drunk. If there's ever a time I shouldn't get drunk, it's probably now, but screw that notion. If I want to get drunk, I'll get drunk. It's not like I really have anyone who would give a damn if I woke up tomorrow in the hospital from alcohol poisoning.
I mean, sure Weiss would care and so would some other people I work with. Hell, she'd probably care as well, but none of them would be allowed to come see me. Something about protocol and such about it not being appropriate even thought I could die if I ended up with alcohol poisoning. But, I'm not some stupid fraternity boy anymore, so I'll probably quit after this beer. Which is probably a good thing, as the room is starting to spin.
Yet, for the life of me I can't figure out why my CIA buddies and I are allowed to go to bars together, but other than that it's considered fraternizing, which is the biggest no-no in the CIA. Being friends outside of work bad, drinking with work buddies good. Can someone who's sober please explain that to me?
I talked to her today. She kept saying the chill had gotten worse. I asked what she meant, although I already knew the answer. It's the chill inside of yourself when you feel utterly helpless, and powerless, yet you keep going. No matter how much I could hate her mother, it was the one thing that sustained her. And now that's gone. Her father's never been a great father. Her friends have no idea what she does. And Danny, well I'm sure he's up there somewhere alternately cursing her out and watching out for her. She calls me her guardian angel, but in reality I think it's him. And here I am babbling on about angels and such, when even I don't know if they exist. Hell, right now, I don't even know if God exists. But, if he, or she does, I have one question to ask -- why must there be so much pain? It feels like each time I get ahead in something, or start to have feelings for someone, I discover it can never work out. Alice, the woman before her, hell, my first girlfriend and now Sydney. Would it be too much to ask that I be able to have a relationship -- a grown-up, out in the open relationship -- with the woman I love?
Yeah, I know the old adage that with joy comes pain, but there are some of us -- myself and Syd included -- who only seem ever feel pain. Why? What is the joy of pain? It makes you lose your sense of self, doubt yourself and hate yourself. I haven't felt this way since I found out that my father died for his country. I kept asking myself which sicko out there did this? Didn't they know he had a family who loved him? A little boy who adored the man he called Dad? A wife who was anxious to have more children? Now that I know what sicko it was who murdered him, I have even more questions. Like did she ever love Sydney? Did she love Jack? Was any of it real, or was it all a farce that enabled her to carry out her deadly missions? And I feel for Syd. I knew my father loved my mother and me. She doesn't know if her mother ever loved her, much less whether her father feels any guilt or remorse. God, I'm pathetic. I'm lying on my couch, covered head to foot with a blanket cause I'm so cold, contemplating big issues when I'm trashed. Guess I'll go to bed, but I know that when I wake up, I'll still be cold.
Syd, where are you tonight? Do you know there is someone out there who cares about you? Who loves you?
Here I am alone on a Saturday night, the fallout of a relationship breakup. I'm sitting on my couch in flannel pajama pants, a ratty old t-shirt and socks, drinking alone. Hell, I'm halfway through my second six-pack of beer. I couldn't even tell you what kind it is, all I know is it's alcoholic. And I'm well on my way toward becoming drunk. If there's ever a time I shouldn't get drunk, it's probably now, but screw that notion. If I want to get drunk, I'll get drunk. It's not like I really have anyone who would give a damn if I woke up tomorrow in the hospital from alcohol poisoning.
I mean, sure Weiss would care and so would some other people I work with. Hell, she'd probably care as well, but none of them would be allowed to come see me. Something about protocol and such about it not being appropriate even thought I could die if I ended up with alcohol poisoning. But, I'm not some stupid fraternity boy anymore, so I'll probably quit after this beer. Which is probably a good thing, as the room is starting to spin.
Yet, for the life of me I can't figure out why my CIA buddies and I are allowed to go to bars together, but other than that it's considered fraternizing, which is the biggest no-no in the CIA. Being friends outside of work bad, drinking with work buddies good. Can someone who's sober please explain that to me?
I talked to her today. She kept saying the chill had gotten worse. I asked what she meant, although I already knew the answer. It's the chill inside of yourself when you feel utterly helpless, and powerless, yet you keep going. No matter how much I could hate her mother, it was the one thing that sustained her. And now that's gone. Her father's never been a great father. Her friends have no idea what she does. And Danny, well I'm sure he's up there somewhere alternately cursing her out and watching out for her. She calls me her guardian angel, but in reality I think it's him. And here I am babbling on about angels and such, when even I don't know if they exist. Hell, right now, I don't even know if God exists. But, if he, or she does, I have one question to ask -- why must there be so much pain? It feels like each time I get ahead in something, or start to have feelings for someone, I discover it can never work out. Alice, the woman before her, hell, my first girlfriend and now Sydney. Would it be too much to ask that I be able to have a relationship -- a grown-up, out in the open relationship -- with the woman I love?
Yeah, I know the old adage that with joy comes pain, but there are some of us -- myself and Syd included -- who only seem ever feel pain. Why? What is the joy of pain? It makes you lose your sense of self, doubt yourself and hate yourself. I haven't felt this way since I found out that my father died for his country. I kept asking myself which sicko out there did this? Didn't they know he had a family who loved him? A little boy who adored the man he called Dad? A wife who was anxious to have more children? Now that I know what sicko it was who murdered him, I have even more questions. Like did she ever love Sydney? Did she love Jack? Was any of it real, or was it all a farce that enabled her to carry out her deadly missions? And I feel for Syd. I knew my father loved my mother and me. She doesn't know if her mother ever loved her, much less whether her father feels any guilt or remorse. God, I'm pathetic. I'm lying on my couch, covered head to foot with a blanket cause I'm so cold, contemplating big issues when I'm trashed. Guess I'll go to bed, but I know that when I wake up, I'll still be cold.
Syd, where are you tonight? Do you know there is someone out there who cares about you? Who loves you?