So my therapist says...
So sometimes I imagine Ty just has to rant about stuff. I mean he's obviously narcissistic and where's the fun in being awesome if you can't tell anyone about it. But he'd never do it publicly, or under his own name, of course. He'd have his own little anonymous blog out there in the web-verse where he could boast and still keep his name pure.
And I imagine it would go something like this...
Therapy. What a fucking joke. We talk about 'feelings' and how Mommy-dearest taught me to lie and Daddy-dearest burned out my fear while I was just a little useless shite. We talk about 'what I'd like to do with my life' and 'how I'd like to be perceived by others' and how to make that happen. 'Make it happen,' he says. Fuck, sometimes I would swear the Professor himself understands me all too well, if you know what I mean. Because that is exactly what I do... I think about what I want out of life... and then I make it fucking happen.
I want the life: the money, the car, the apartment. I deserve the best. And I make it happen. I take the jobs I need to take and do them better than anyone else ever possibly could. Because I am the fucking best at what I do, and because I don't give a flying fuck about what that is, providing it pays.
But lately... in the past few years or so, I've found that this way of thinking is causing more trouble for me down the line than it may be worth. Watch-lists are a bitch to get off, for instance; the CIA mainframe is no joke.
So then one day this cute little brunette tells me he thinks I could be a 'Good Guy'. No shit. A genuine 'Good Guy' - you know, fighting for the rights of the little people and all that. Made my day, that one did. As if I give a shit about being the 'Good Guy'. But he was so damn genuine in thinking it, it got my attention. I started thinking, 'Why not?' Why couldn't I be the 'Good Guy'? Providing you get in the right doors and start doing the right jobs... that's gotta pay pretty decent, right? And it would be less of a hassle if the Feds would stop harassing me on my days off - 'cuz there's not much that gets on my nerves like some prick of an Agent showing up at my door with some bullshit warrant on my Saturday mornings and wasting my fucking time.
So I thought hell, I'll give it a shot. Just a few years into my degree and I've already got 'em interested. And not in a bad way, for once. Nothings ever been proven, after all... no actual charges laid, no actual time served and all that. As far as my records are concerned, I haven't done a damned thing. Spotless. That's me. The perfect candidate. Tragically misunderstood is all. Besides, I'm too good for them to pass up. That's just the truth right there. The vast majority of government agents are fucking morons and they would be fucking lucky to have me.
So what do I think of this? I can have the money, the car, the apartment... all of it. I'll get to travel, see the world, risk life and limb on top-secret missions in the hell-hole back-countries of the globe. Sounds fun, actually. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner...
Oh, and I get the guy, too. Bonus. Not the brunette. No. Although I could, if I wanted him. But the first one. The big one. The only one... that ever mattered. The whole world could burn and I wouldn't give a shit, but not him. He's the only one left. Fuck, why? My therapist says it's because I 'formed an attachment to him in early adolescence that I never, and may never, grow out of'. Asshole talks a lot of shit, doesn't he? It's his idea, too... the Boy's, I mean; the Boy's idea... the therapy thing.
Funny. The men in my life are actually making me a better person. At least on the outside. Do you suppose that's a start? You know... I don't believe in God or heaven or hell or any of that nonsense... but if I did, I bet I could even fool good ol' St. Peter at the gates.
I'm just that good.
And I imagine it would go something like this...
Therapy. What a fucking joke. We talk about 'feelings' and how Mommy-dearest taught me to lie and Daddy-dearest burned out my fear while I was just a little useless shite. We talk about 'what I'd like to do with my life' and 'how I'd like to be perceived by others' and how to make that happen. 'Make it happen,' he says. Fuck, sometimes I would swear the Professor himself understands me all too well, if you know what I mean. Because that is exactly what I do... I think about what I want out of life... and then I make it fucking happen.
I want the life: the money, the car, the apartment. I deserve the best. And I make it happen. I take the jobs I need to take and do them better than anyone else ever possibly could. Because I am the fucking best at what I do, and because I don't give a flying fuck about what that is, providing it pays.
But lately... in the past few years or so, I've found that this way of thinking is causing more trouble for me down the line than it may be worth. Watch-lists are a bitch to get off, for instance; the CIA mainframe is no joke.
So then one day this cute little brunette tells me he thinks I could be a 'Good Guy'. No shit. A genuine 'Good Guy' - you know, fighting for the rights of the little people and all that. Made my day, that one did. As if I give a shit about being the 'Good Guy'. But he was so damn genuine in thinking it, it got my attention. I started thinking, 'Why not?' Why couldn't I be the 'Good Guy'? Providing you get in the right doors and start doing the right jobs... that's gotta pay pretty decent, right? And it would be less of a hassle if the Feds would stop harassing me on my days off - 'cuz there's not much that gets on my nerves like some prick of an Agent showing up at my door with some bullshit warrant on my Saturday mornings and wasting my fucking time.
So I thought hell, I'll give it a shot. Just a few years into my degree and I've already got 'em interested. And not in a bad way, for once. Nothings ever been proven, after all... no actual charges laid, no actual time served and all that. As far as my records are concerned, I haven't done a damned thing. Spotless. That's me. The perfect candidate. Tragically misunderstood is all. Besides, I'm too good for them to pass up. That's just the truth right there. The vast majority of government agents are fucking morons and they would be fucking lucky to have me.
So what do I think of this? I can have the money, the car, the apartment... all of it. I'll get to travel, see the world, risk life and limb on top-secret missions in the hell-hole back-countries of the globe. Sounds fun, actually. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner...
Oh, and I get the guy, too. Bonus. Not the brunette. No. Although I could, if I wanted him. But the first one. The big one. The only one... that ever mattered. The whole world could burn and I wouldn't give a shit, but not him. He's the only one left. Fuck, why? My therapist says it's because I 'formed an attachment to him in early adolescence that I never, and may never, grow out of'. Asshole talks a lot of shit, doesn't he? It's his idea, too... the Boy's, I mean; the Boy's idea... the therapy thing.
Funny. The men in my life are actually making me a better person. At least on the outside. Do you suppose that's a start? You know... I don't believe in God or heaven or hell or any of that nonsense... but if I did, I bet I could even fool good ol' St. Peter at the gates.
I'm just that good.