Justified Season Six

Dear Hearts I’m back on the East Coast. I have one hour before Mass. I could do the right thing and take a walk with my mom. Or I could do this blog.

I fell down the well. It was so bright up there and now I’m at the bottom again treading water. What the fuck? See, I told you that happiness is dangerous. If I had just stayed in the bottom of the well I would feel twice as worse.

Everywhere I look I am reminded of my failures.

I went to confession today. I am absolved. I don’t feel like it. I knelt in front of the tabernacle and prayed the rosary. I begged Christ to take my yoke and let me take his lighter one.

Casablanca is this café/bar that has been around for 30 years. I used to go there and smoke cigarettes and write on my laptop. A lot. It was my place. It was my Serenity Place. No smoking inside now. Stupid law. But, they still have a Blues night. I used to go to the Blue Night and flirt with guys and tell me I was getting my Ph.D. I never paid for a drink. HOWEVER, I never drank underage. That was the deal with the owner. I could hang out as much as I wanted, drink Cappuccinos (this was before Starbucks was a household name), write, and read, as long as I didn’t drink underage.

I met Asshole there in the bar. T. and I went there this winter for lunch. The waitress remembered me. I have a piece of the window frame taped to my laptop because Casablanca was my muse. I went back the other night because Gaia, my sister, and Johnny, her Bliss was playing. Well, Johnny has a band and Gaia sings like—well, she could totally take on Carrie Underwood. Her voice is a gift from God. Johnny—what an incredible performer. Wow. He has it. But I looked around the bar—I hadn’t been there in over 12 years and then it was with Asshole. (T. and I had lunch in the café). I thought of all the times I spent there. The raging crush I had on Bowie, the bartender. (No, T. I did not fuck him!) I thought of all the hope I had when I was there. I was young and life hadn’t broken me yet. I was gonna be a writer. I was gonna be a teacher. I was gonna be…something.

My sister—who has followed her heart and none of The Rules is now singing there with Johnny (someday my common-law brother-in-law).

I’m on disability, can’t even work at a retail store, have my Episodes back doubly, have a house I will probably lose, 30 grand plus in student loan debt, and want to put a bullet in my brain. Oh, and I get to see T. on Saturday to get my Hallmark ornaments I left there, then there is going to back to school with my tail between my legs to pick up my stuff and say good-bye, and don’t forget the appointment with my Shrink Wednesday. Gee. How keen.

Wow. Good job, Kate. Good fucking job.

So why don’t I just stop the fucking whining and get on with it already? Just take the fucking pills, or cut my wrists, or hell shoot myself with one of dad’s many guns?

Because I am coward. And I still get “joy” from sleeping with Brighid’s head in my palm, watching old Catfish re-runs, and smoking cigarettes. I want to help Valaria get revenge on the Ice Troll for killing her, And G-Pa needs me. Boy did he get fucked. I’m the one he’s got.

AND I STILL REMEMBER HOW THE LIGHT FELT ON MY FACE.

The Holy City is definitely a better place for me to be. Because there the Nuclear Option is not allowed on G-Pa’s couch.

I’m not ready for the Undiscovered Country yet.

Christ help me, please.

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: Mom—don’t try to secure all the guns from me. If I’m gonna do it, I’ gonna do it. That is the cold, hard, scary truth. Don’t ask me to give up my pills or hide the sharp objects. I’m not gonna today. I promise. Not today. Not September 3^rd. But, I wanna.

PPS: I am lonely. I just want someone to love me the way Ronnie loved Nancy. I just want to sleep next to someone and hold his hand. No sex. I just want to feel not alone. There’s no app for that.

PPPS: Mom and Martha. I am half-way through the final season of Justified. I swear to Mother Mary that I won't take the Nuclear Option while I am still watching the season. Six episodes left. So there's a promise. 'Cuz I won't get locked up again. Then I will. It's Chernobyl.