I Don't Wanna

Dear Hearts

With clinical depression the light flickers. Tonight it is barely burning. No Nuclear Option plans—so that is a feat.

I just feel like I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna cross stitch. I don’t wanna talk. I just don’t wanna.

That’s when I know my light is burning very low.

Boss Lady. Cinderella. Burning Bed. T. Self doubt.

And it's okay to just feel whatever the flickering candle brings. Like water over my toes. Some nights it's okay to just not wanna. 

So as Scarlet said, “After all…tomorrow is another day.”

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: I laid my head on Aunt Faerie’s shoulder and she laid her head on mine. It felt so good. It’s nights like these that I wish I had somebody to sleep with. Not sex. Just have somebody hold me in the night.

PPS: T. you are throwing away precious time with an incredible young woman (not me) and you’ll never get it back. You fucking idiot. I hope the Listerine, beer, and vodka is worth it. You may regret throwing me over—I hope you do because I can’t be very Christian toward you right now. But you WILL absolutely regret not being in Cinderella’s life. That will haunt you to the grave, motherfucker.

PPPS: Good thing I am going to Mass tomorrow