( Firstly, I just want to mention that-- for all those who aren't Beatles fans-- the title 'Long Tall Kate' comes from the song 'Long Tall Sally'. To be fair and honest, the song was actually originally done by Little Richard and, later, covered by those famous Brits, but, really? I think The Beatles did it better ;-). So, here it is, for everyone's OOC-viewing pleasure-- Kate's IC journal (accounted in SLT) that she keeps somewhere in her apartment. Enjoy <3. )

It's early Thursday morning. March 4th.

A little after 1am and here I am, sleepless in Suburbia and staring up at my almond-tinted ceiling. It's boring in here. I should paint. Anyway, I'm awake. I shouldn't be; I have work tomorrow, just like I do every, single morning-- six days a week, twelve or more hours per day. The routine never grows old, but it should. Yet, I won't let it. I barely get any sleep. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I had a full night's rest. I can't sleep. Not well, at least. I want.. no.. I need something to do. Always. Before I start rambling, though, it's best that I first jot down what all has happened since I arrived in the southern underworld of Hathian, LA before I forget entirely. Albeit, I haven't seen the sky begin to fall, pigs flying or anything particularly out of the ordinary in the least, but I tend to have the most God-awful memory when it's least convenient, and writing seems to create a sort of balance for me.

It was either the 10th or the 11th that I got here, and it didn't take long at all for me to realize just how far a cry Hathian was from New York. In fact, the realization took place almost immediately, I think. But, here I was, and here I would remain for as long as I needed to. "There's good money working in those inner-cities," she told me. "Really good money." She. Audrey Shepherd, a former co-worker of mine back at the 19th Precinct. Another Upper East-Sider. So, I considered her comment and did my research, only to find out that the woman wasn't lying. Like Hell she was. The average increase in annual salary when someone transfers from a largely populated area to an inner-city is about 15-20%. A 15-20% gross. Seriously? Hands down, that was a far better deal, and I had what it took to make the change-over. For three years, I came face-to-face with some of the most vile, most disgusting, most frighteningly clever mother-fuckers with whom most would only ever have to cross paths in the dark depths of their nightmares. And, even there, in the privacy of your own slumber, it would be an unnerving happenstance.

It only took about three days-- more or less-- to finish packing, as well as to organize all of my things. I think the first person I'd met-- as in names and brief background exchange, and the whole nine yards that pertain to when you first bump into someone-- was Nicky. Nicky DiPie.. something. See? There goes that sodding horrid memory. Oh, well. I'll find it out eventually and, hopefully then, I'll be able to keep it locked inside my head.. amongst the rest of the clutter up there.

Then, of course, there's Ellis. Oh, Ellis.. He's going to be the death of himself one of these days. I can feel it. I think he means well with most of his actions. I really do. I think that, underneath that mildly tough exterior, he's a heart made of gold-- silver, at least. Every time I happen to bump into him, though, he's either got trouble on his tail or he's about to swing it someone's way. He asked me about Buffy the other day-- or Rebecca Aura, as what is stated on her file. He should have paid more attention to the tone in his voice, or else I might have actually believed him to some degree when he told me he hadn't a clue as to Buffy's whereabouts. Oh, Ellis.. Ellis, Ellis, Ellis..

Now, there's Dannika, a fellow fiery-engine redhead with what seems to be an almost identical-- if not exactly alike-- amount of intolerance for those who simply can't get the job done. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders, not to mention the fact that she's enrolled in my Sociology class. Good job, Dannika. Good job, indeed. Oh, right.. that.. the Sociology thing. Well, it became apparent that the usual activities with which I used to preoccupy myself back home in the city were.. inexistent here in Hathian, and I decided to take on another job. Yep. That's right. Another something for me to juggle, as if my life isn't hellish enough. Just another something to help fill in the blanks.

There's also Trin. The Psychriatrist. As if I could forget to mention him. We met in the library when I was looking for a book-- Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, to be exact. Of course, it would be that novel in particular. Casey never did give me my own addition back. God only knows where that thing has ended up. I still can't believe she sold it for a fix. Absobloodylutely ridiculous, I swear to God. And, I'll never forgive. My father gave that to me when I was in Junior High School. Sure, he's still around and could easily purchase another for me, but, well.. it just wouldn't be the same. Getting back on point, Trin told me he taught Literature this passed semester. Interesting. I love literature, really. Huge fan, even.

Last, but certainly not least, enters Madden--stage right and unexpectedly so. Senior Officer Velde. A co-worker of mine. Have you ever found something you knew was broken, but not how? But, still, though, you couldn't help but want to fix it. There's a sadness in her that I can't place. Or, maybe even a disappointment-- perhaps in herself. But, for what? She's the only one in the department with whom I've connected. Down to Earth, a gorgeous girl, brilliant sense of humour and even a temper-- which, of course, is nothing at all strange in my world. And, I invited her to the Social this Saturday on the 6th. How could I not? Especially after her telling me about the Dax thing.

I missed being able to celebrate Da's birthday with him in New York due to the sodding weather over there which, as of late, I believe, has began calming down considerably. There was a storm over there a week ago. We had a nice, long chat, though, that Saturday, so that made up for my absence a bit. He understood, of course. [a small heart drawn here]

So, that's that. For now, at least. And, thankfully? I feel my eyes getting heavy.
That's my cue.

- K.