the below entry is - in its entirety - from Writers Cafe...the site crashed yesterday and all writing on the site was lost. Reader comments, Friends lists and PM's were unscathed - but for those who wrote exclusively on the site and did not save work anywhere else....its gone.

I spent my day yesterday barely treading water, swamped by my own insecurities and choking on the life that has become unmanagable. The swirling chaos of my days spin in ever tighter revolutions and it seems I am becoming a black hole...pulling everything around me down into darkness so strong even light does not escape...only the event horizon keeps the memory of brightness...

I could go into graphic detail of my morning and evening with my child who raged uncontrollably last night, cursing and screaming....the subsequent fight with the husband and the tear induced coma into which I finally succumbed. I could give you bullet points of my days 'at the office' and the drone of existence the eight to five life produces in soul sucking monotony...but let's just cut to the chase.

I cling ferociously to a dream- as so many of us do...and I have been waiting for something....anything. A sign from my Creator God that perhaps I was for once doing what I was supposed to do....and today...I come to sanctuary only to find that all the tables are overturned - the building is on fire, and so many of those people I love are running for the exit.

Yes. My writing is gone. Almost a year of effort swept away with the "click of an errant mouse" (Hell of a sign Heavenly Dad....Hell of a sign) and with it....my hope. But the more insidious damage is only beginning. You see, for whatever it is worth, I am so damn anal that I cannot - would not put all of my faith in ONE spot....my writing is saved on my hard drive and also in hard copy (in two different places.) So the writing is really not my biggest issue. It's you. Its the feedback. The 11 months of encouragement, gentle teasing, and even a few "what the HELL was THAT" wake up calls. Gone. I find it - cresting on the rogue wave of events of the past few days...almost unbearable. I've lost myself - because I lost the reflection of my worth to YOU.

I will start the process of reposting and I pray (although it terrifies me now to do so) that YOU, my friends will do the same. I pray that you will remember me. You will read me. You will continue to encourage me = because now I am completely empty and I cannot motivate myself to even breathe...I'm just holding my hand over my mouth so I don't cry around my coworkers. I hope you will remember me. Those of you who stay. I am your friend. You are my reason for being here. I will read you....I will encourage you....Today I will even mourn with you...but with out you...I am not me...

I don't blame Charlie. Disasters happen. Systems crash....no program is failsafe....I still use paper copies. But DAMMIT. My heart is broken.

I love you....please, don't leave me all alone.

I will repost the novels on the Cafe - I simply don't see the revelevence in posting them here - because this is primarily a blog site and doesn't lend itself to BOOK posting - and that's ok. I am just stunned and at this point - it does seem like a sign from GOD to table writing any novels....so I am considering just that.

I will still be blogging. But if I am a bit absent for the rest of the week its because I am wallowing in self pity....and wondering what of my shitty writing is worth the effort to even resurrect....on writers cafe.

Seanymph - thank you - I 'm so glad I inspired you....GO FOR IT! WRITE IT!

Permission to wax gooey and sentimental....just for a moment. I am after all a human.

I often disparage my spawn - rant and rage about their shortcomings, the hair they leave in the sink and the tire tracks they burn through my ego as they peel out of my life at mock five...but please know...I do deeply love them. Chocolate would be helpful...beer would be better. But I do love my family. Even that hairy Bible thumping beast I married.

What I am really railing about is my own failures, my own nearsightedness and my own resistance to the rollercoaster ride of life...I so often want off. I will continue to rant. It gives me release -but more so - it makes you laugh - and that gives me something to write for - not just about.

We have the power to murder with our words. We also have the power to build. So I break from my norm to let you know gently - there is some love and hope in this banshee's heart. And that is why I can say the things I do....I truly don't hate them...they are gifts. Hairy, noisy, refrigerator emptying gifts.

Peace.

I am committed to visiting you if you visit me. Just so you know. If you comment...I will comment back. And time permitting - I will come find those of you who may not have time to comment - but I can't visit everyone every day. So its up to you. Sometimes you may need to come by and let me know you were here.....peace.

So it appears after speaking with some of you who also frequent Deb's page that she is still around and did not wink out voluntarily which gives me hope. My neurosis will now shift to the complexities of this cyber village in which we reside - knowing that stones sometimes fall from the sky obliterating the buildings we've fashioned with our keystrokes and dreams. In the vernacular - blogs sometimes get deleted and it sucks. Sometimes they are restored by the Yahoo techies - and sometimes friends build new homes.

Rest assured therefore if my house is ever cast into cyber hell - Tam has a back up plan. For those of you who may remember the great blogblivion in the spring of 2006 - when blogs were being deleted frequently....I implemented my own disaster recovery plan...yup.

Anyway if you felt slighted yesterday when I lamented over the talents of someone else - I apologise. Many of you are gifted writers of the same caliber as Deb and I am in awe of you as well. Others of you are faithful commentors who actually read and 'get me' and I am inspired by you. Others of you -Good Lord you're so crazy I just want to hug you on the neck and laugh out loud...but each of you is a blessing to me and if you disappear without explanation I will wonder...so I hope that gives you peace this morning.

Y360 is my oldest blog home and even though I often consider chucking my page....I couldn't. Underneath this cranky exterior is a rock. With all its drama, its limitations (I agree, Dorid) and its quirks - I simply would be less of a person - less of a writer wannabe without YOU. And you are why I stay.

Peace and have an excellent morning...

so many of you already know - I'm probably the last puppy in the basket to get the slap on my drippy nose that a denizen of the written word has done that thing...that makes me piddle on my tail and howl in sorrow. Yes, Debbie. For what ever reason - one of my favorite poetesses has left the building. [dele...]ted her page - gone.

It is not and never will be my business to know why - and even if I did here at the shallow end of the dendrite cesspool would I fathom the circumstances - the mindset - the purpose. I can only hope its for something better, tangible, real. While I am left to play in the broken glass - too stupid to register the cuts.

I was already feeling shabby - stuck - inconsequential this morning with a throbbing brain pan and an eye that feels like someone in my skull is trying to kick it out through my cheek bone. And there it was....[dele...]ted...sigh.

I'm not angry at Debbie although I wish I knew...because I valued her deeply as a friend as much as cyberland will allow - and as a poet - she raised the bar so damn high I could only dream of touching it. I pause for an 'oh well' moment....

Yesterday sucked. Today promises more sucking. Unless I scream and cry and use expletives I have become invisible to the world in my office and in my home....and on the page it creeps as well. The more pleasantries - the more people look away. And its enforcin my neurosis that perhaps I am just a freak of nature...like an accident on the freeway...people can't help but stare and comment as they pass by....slowing down for a moment.

All rants aside. I will miss Debbie just like I miss A Texas Poet and all the others who have chosen to do something else with their PC time. I hold to the hope that what ever it is - it is a blessing....360 is still so much better for me than carving ryhmes in my kitchen floor....with a butter knife...so I am still here. Vapid as I am.

Peace. (I'll get over it. I will)

Oh SURE! Tammy LOVES blogging. TAMMY promises to be fully functional. Then the chica goes stealth for three days. (friends dropping like Bush at a state dinner green pluses proliferating) Really. Tam's a liar.

So my LAX is this (lame a** excuse) get it? Tam made a hoo ha... Anyway. Tuesday did in fact suck - sans the meathooks. The daily child wrangle was my highlight. The rest was a vein popping blur. Suffice it to say I had some of the worst work days in my entire tenure as accountant du jour. Email flamage - teary eyed coworkers - wars and rumors of wars. I'm still a bit shell shocked and horrifically behind....which almost never happens anymore. (tam stops to ponder as reality jolts her in the cortex. WHY are people reading this piffle?)

The casa de Tamster has offered only domestic prickles and little comfort. Suffice it to say I am differently abled when faced with technological opportunities (not wanting to use the term retarded as one must submit oneself to the almighty unwritten law of appropriate speech whilst blogging...so as not to offend.) and for the ever lovin' life o' me I simply could not fathom the intricacies of copying copious family pics to CD - Rs even though I have FOUR different programs which should facilitate said task. After a hops and barley induced glaze to my evening I was able to block most of the pain from banging my head against the monitor repeatedly as the words "UNABLE TO WRITE TO CD" burned into my synapses. That was Wednesday. On Thursday the ever supportive spouse from his throne of authority (ie that nasty feline shredded brown abomination called an easy chair) cheeks firmly planted and head bobbing in semi comatose old man posture says 'maybe its adobe' (we now pause for a moment of silence whilst Tam access her 'indoor voice'.) IMAGINE THAT. Adobe photo shop doesn't frickin' play nice - so I had to migrate fifty MILLION jpegs to some other space on my hard drive...and then put the little mothers in a file so I could copy paste. Six discs later my hubby is happily holding two collections o famshots for the brosky and sister...

After a nice finish of way too much Chinese hole in the wall food last night and sending the esposo off on a plane to Arlington this morning I am now attempting to 'find myself' again. There's probably enough cobwebs in the living room to spin a sweater...I cannot enter the chamber of doom formerly known as the boys room...half of my flatware is in the back seat of the car. But I - being the master of my destiny have just spent the past hour visiting those of you who commented. Yes. Tam commented before blogging. (about damn time huh)

Dave is in Arlington burying his fathers cremains...(cremated remains...cremains....sounds like something you'd get in your coffee at Dennys...) and I am a bytchlorette for the next few days. He told me not to cut down the crappy trees in the front yard...but the house. The house is doomed. So are the boys. And the rotten excuse for a feline who pooped on the boy's bed (and had the cajones to cover it with his comforter. The cat's goin down...)

I've been seriously sidelined in so many areas - I need to get my butt back in gear on the books. I have poetic lines souring in my brainpan. The second chin is only getting bigger. And a few of my friends are even forming search parties - but school is almost out...and it can't possibly get more hectic can it?

Peace. See you on the pages.... the pic above is me and my momzilla...

A sing along moment for you....Tammy needs a belly laugh.

I've thought about this for a few days now...what I would say when I returned. What pith, what vinegar...what lamentations and laughter I might share. And there were moments - wonderful moments, awkward moments...and I was looking forward to coming back - to complaining about my day job and the 'stuff' that happened while I didn't have time to mess with it over the internet email waves....

But something else has happened and even tho' I owe no explanations - I feel that need to write it down - because its temporarily sidelined me - at least for today.

My son's beautiful, awesome girlfriend and her family now mourn the loss of an older brother who was found on Thursday the 26th - in the desert near El Paso - strangled to death. He had been missing since April 12th. That's really all I care to divulge. You can google it I suppose. The family is stunned and my spawn with his big ole happy heart who just spent the past few days dealing with the loss of his granddad now must help his girl through THIS.

Needless to say, after this, and the memorial on saturday and the 6 am flight this morning - I'm done for the day. I need a nap. I need a damn good cry. and I really need a day without serious situations - which won't be tomorrow. I still have to pick up my hubby this evening....

I will probably be on tomorrow night to vent before I pop a gasket. But right now that couch is lookin' mighty good.

I wish you peace. Forgive me for not being myself. Myself will be back tomorrow....

Well, the taxes are done and my pocket is lighter, now if I could only unload some of the heaviness in my soul.

I know the damage that can be done by dumping toxic waste repeatedly into the stream of anything including the virtual bubbling river I so love to wade through on lazy mornings and afternoons...but the angst and ashes are too heavy for me to carry. My family, my life, it seems my spinning world does nothing but circle the sky - never landing - never moving forward my angelic traffic controllers on strike and the peanuts are so dry.

All joking aside my 'dad in law' is seriously ill and my 'sis in law' is helping take care of him until she closes on a home at which time my hubby will be traveling to assist - meaning me and the spawn will be batchin' it...creating a virtual hairball of epic proportions....Fred's (the older spawn) GF has a serious situation in her family - my son at the tender age of fifteen is trying to be a good listener as a family spirals toward chaos...and we cannot stop the spin...

The recent rains we had flooded the front room (leaky roof and the plastic failed) the floor is soaked...lets just add noxious sprinkles to the already despicable wreck where the bills come and the family sleeps, shall we? And there is no way foreseeable at our present escalation toward retirement that we will ever grasp the brass ring or the tin ring or even manage to get control of the rust ring in the tub and make our dung heap a home...I try not to look up or around when I'm there....because it breaks my damn heart.

And then there is this prickly rashlike feeling under my peotic skin that tells me "you're a writer, Tam...write. Publish. Be. Lawdy mama I wanna choke the gizard outta that irritating voice that whispers plot lines and poetic piffle in the midst of my daily shlep toward obscurity.

I didn't win the 1000.00 best christian poetry EVA' contest so its back to the trenches on the whole submission thing - but I did scrounge up a whole passle o' free contests, so tomorrow I'll post the link.

On the uptake, the cough has abated somewhat so I am reasonably confident my lungs will remain lodged within my ribcage and will not be flung forcibly from my left eye or squirted unceremoniously through my bladder as I thought last week. Some things do get better over time.

So that's part of the list for the day. I stand at the door of oblivion screaming my horrific warning to those of you with one hair's worth of talent: yes...WAKE UP! Quit wasting your time - quit the day job...don't get sucked in to the black hole of mediocrity...FLY before its too late...

If you will excuse me I must retrieve my anus from the abyss now....Peace...I'll be back tomorrow...you've been warned.

Caveat. If it's easy - it's wrong. Suffice it to say - momma taught her ass to talk and here I be. Don't send flowers or sympathy cards - I earned my wobbly stool in the hall of losers and shamed....

Was I so damn blind, so desperate that I put my logic on ignore? or am I truly a paper Pollyanna hoping against hope? Believing the lie that I can rise? Yes I am living proof that crap in fact will float.

Seems that this whole publishing issue....scamorama...the inevitable finger thrown in my general direction complete with a smiley face and several raspberries. There it is. Tam. You're a loser. You were born an idiot and you'll die an idiot. Why the hell bother? I try because its all I know to do....

So now I sit, donkey tail between my legs and at least three of four hooves in my mouth - and a barbed hook....but I did it to myself. I dreamed. I closed my eyes - and forgot I was standing on the freeway.

In retrospect, it really doesn't matter does it? A signed contract for a year beween an entity who will do nothing and an entity who IS nothing? (nothing from nothing leaves nothing....you fill in the rest of the song) So I paid for an erroneous critique. I got my ego fed. Of course there's the husband and fam to face. But I'm a big nasty adult. And they're all used to me tanking. Its why they don't believe in me.

Sure - I'm crushed. But when you've been a wannabe all your life, what's one more rug pulled from beneath your feet? I can still be that horrific warning. Don't listen to me. Don't do what I do. Don't close your eyes when you dream.

To my writer friends. Yeah you still go for it. And the few of you I sent advice to...some of it is still sound. But this? Took me from toast to ash in the twinkling of the send button.

Gotta close my door now....No one in THIS office wants to see a grown woman cry....

PS...the contract states - they don't promise a sale....I understand that part. But what if they did sell it? What if...

Peace.

The sun set citrine and jasper, languid in the western sky as the honeysuckled breeze teased us with the promise of crisp evening air. Mimosa fronds swayed gently welcoming the dusk as we slurped sodas with straws. Damp twilight descended while we listened to train songs *a few decibels below the croaking toads in the back yard streetlight glow.

“Don’t get married before we’re back together unless Andy Gibb asks you.” She whispered teen aged dreams in my stars-truck heart as she penned a promise in my yearbook. Young words easily broken in the crashing of years and tears – on clock faces and swept away by the blur of the second hand, the second chance, the second normal of our lives. Her world spun out far from mine. I left her in Jacksonville in ’79.

Once again my heart shifts, spinning in retrograde across the starless firmament of my fractured soul. Jagged years of a troubled life become smoothed by greater future sorrow until moments sparkle brilliant in my rear view mirror. Trapped in perpetual forward motion I desire only the reversal of my days.

Buffi turned 42 yesterday. That treasured soul who inspired me to write, to dream, to believe when my own parents considered me slightly off center she was my corner stone. She was and is the only one on this hurtling rock who ever even tried to help me shed my scales and sprout wings. So often I am simply broken without her daily appearance in my life. I pray for her, for her family, her daughters and her grandbabies. I long for the constant flood of disappointments and tragedies she faces to be broken like the clouds disbursing after a desert rain. I ask God to return to me the other half of my beating heart but the manifestation of all my dreams into which she is inextricably woven never appears. I dream with one eye open, waiting for the inevitable eaters of vision and they do not fail to bring destruction. But they have never taken my desire to rescue her….and they never will…

So permit me the fantasy of taking a virtual trip back to the 70’s when my life was stretched out like a purple ribbon across the dance floor – to a time when music was infectious and no one said ‘damn’ in a sitcom…no cell phones….no school shootings…just big hair, big platform shoes, big sounds and big dreams. I need a moment to remember when my dear friend and I exchanged hope instead of tears.

Peace.

*excerpted from Solo – TL Hughes – Boehm © 1985

*excerpted from Selfless Portrait TL Hughes Boehm 1988

random note to self - what the hayall is wrong with my avatar? She must be prickly because I haven't used her skinny cartoon cheeks since I was interesting. Now she will not comply with her little disco ball background.Perhaps even she is in retrograde....turkey and all...sigh.

According to the small spitting cretan wrenched from my loins 11 years ago this very day I am one of the above in the picture because I 'yelled' at him...Some things never change. I'm considering lacing his cake with atomic warheads and vomit jelly beans....ungrateful spawn.

So its not the cool of the morning – having determined this week that precious time would be better suited to the more important life building things: time with my Creator, time gently coaxing my flaccid aging body to some semblance of human instead of hippo – even though my inner child is throwing the biggest tantrum she has ever thrown. She screams and cries and tells me she is best in the morning before the cares of the day squeeze the poet to piffle…I hear the lamentation behind my eyes as I gaze out my window watching the desert dusk descend.

I’ve seen it before – that odd disease of the so called 360 elite as the longing for attention incites the less stable ego’s within to dance naked upon ones page – reveling in the gratuities until the tenuous line of virtual versus reality snaps and hearts are caught in the coiling wires. Bright lights extinguish themselves as the well intentioned and the weird well up in the comments, the email…the invites list. But for all my desires stoked by multiple kudos of strangers and friends; I stand a line called ‘exception’ because I know the truth. I kept the notice from Y360. I studied it. “Due to the activity on your page….” Yes. Activity is not a measure of intelligence, of wit, of character or any other thing that may make one TRULY interesting. It makes me active. That’s all. Like a lab rat. A guppy. While I am flattered by the temporary attention I will scratch my head forever regarding the whole ‘interesting’ thing. Yes, I appreciate the compliments. And I am foaming at the mouth to return them in large quantities – but a Tam’s gotta keep it real. I write because its an integral part of my personality. In Tam’s vault of brain droppings – there is simply no such thing as ‘block.’ I simply do not suffer from cerebral constipation when presented with a blank screen. Doesn’t mean I am profound. Just means I produce a lot of ‘fertilizer.’

Lemme splain it to you like you know I do. The Tamster is totally addicted to blogging. I am sitting here half naked swabbed with a bottle of calamine lotion due to the outbreak of hives produced by only one day of not blogging. I could change my mind. I am female. It is my right. I could return to the morning catharsis – but I tire of only having less than an hour to squeeze out profundities and circulate my virtual village. As it stands I have plenty of evening sans cable – and even I must change.

So – I’ll see you in the evenings Thursday’s through Mondays and I hope I will be able to visit more often. Some of you have been so patient. And others have been so diligent. And I owe you bigtime.

I think I’ve purged this topic so tomorrow evening – I have another….something light for the weekend.

I welcome Irene, gemii1 (snagged a lurker!) Sally, Renkins, Snowleopard and Internalaffairs. Peace....

The reality is - my life is complicated, messy, and difficult. Yup, I'm one of you....

I spent the day on Saturday (and by the way - if you're reading me today because you think I may be interesting - you picked the wrong day. Check my other posts - check back tomorrow -check the next person on your list but today I reserve the right to post a dud, a blase blog, a random rant of no validity. Piffle. Yes, I am up to my buttcheeks in the mundane.) traipsing around in snow that would not stick even though I begged and pleaded - for printer cartridges and paper. I was so excited at the prospect of coaxing color from screen to page. Alas, at the end of the day....the red must be invisible red because after the frightening cycle of reboot/uninstall/reinstall/cuss and cry...I get no red on my page. For you who are artistically challenged or basically black and white - that means no purple either. Pretty dang hard to design journals with no purple and no red...my business logo just HAPPENS to be purple and red. I am ever so happy and light hearted this morn. Three hundred dollars later, several hours of technical torment - and I am still unable to print. By the way. Unless you're an expert. Don't uninstall a laser printer. Its back with errors now and I am clueless as to how to fix it. I now have a five hundred dollar mutant paperweight on my desk. Its very sad. And so am I.

Ok so maybe that's no reason to slit my wrists when people in Belize are running out of coca to chew because we Yanks have an insatiable craving for that thin patty of beef dressed up with a bun and paired with a side of fries but its only the topper, the whipped cream, the sprinkles on my weekend of hell. It started with a knockdown, dragout cry till my eyes swelled shut fight with the spawn and dad....and it ends with the dread of a monday, knowing that I have things at work that will not be done....

Somewhere sandwiched in the mess - I printed my 'book' for two teens to peruse, flay, and otherwise decimate - sans my few 'red' notes of course. It makes the 'book' a bit more real to see the pages neatly displayed in an innocous white binder....i suppose that is a small victory...shhh....there's mud betwixt me and the car....I would hate to lose my grip.

Anyway. Thank you to Poet's Poet/Podium on Multiply. I'm judging a poetry contest. Those who cannot write....judge. It's a few more sprinkles for me - and I appreciate the opportunity.

I have forty two emails this morning in my 360 'bin' - why? I hope to peruse them at some point today. It may be tomorrow so please be patient. If you smell virtual smoke...that's just me...setting my blog on fire.

Peace.

Whilst I exited my chariot on the dirt road to the castle I found congealed and crusty the hidden bowl of gruel. Bestudded with solidified raisin like nodules - it rested frozen and secretive beneath the childs' prized blanket. I cackled and evil croak to the leaden sky, rejoicing in the bitter cold that created the frigid remains of the child's breakfast, knowing if it had been a summer eve the gruel would be noxious and oozing...

So my kid left his breakfast in may d*mn car under his flippin' blankie and I found the nasty little offering. So I waited. Left it in the car and played my only card of power against the chaos that is a tween. "No archery until the collection of breakfast bowls has been removed from the back seat." Met with squeals and growls of dispair mind you - he grudgingly removed said bowls launching a verbal barrage of excuses to the parental male biped (kept only for his swarthy looks and ability to kill large rodents)

Spawn: "I couldn't eat it cuz mom was yakkin and yellin and made me pukey."

Dad o Spawn: "You better watch it. She made your brother puke in his toychest once."

Lovely. I have the power to make a defenseless spawn puke...just by the incredible gift of my voice. Yes I am the evil queen. Even though I sacrificed precious blogtime this fine morn to help him print dreaded neopet drawing instructions....I am still one of the enemy's minions and therefore never to be trusted or spoken of gently.

Kids. Gotta love 'em.

So I am off to the daily debriding - grateful only that it is friday and tomorrow, perhaps I can blog and cogitate simultaneously. Perhaps to visit some pages before I am summarily demoted to the dreaded green ex of 'favorites' by another member of 360 royalty as I was yesterday. Yes, it happens to a Tam. She is at times abruptly removed from an active page. Much to her sadness - but when dragons cry who is brave enough to hand them a tissue...

Peace.

I have some invites to check out and some visitors/lurkers/blogmentors whom I have not visited...please be patient. Tam gets a tad slow sometimes. If I've missed you....shoot me an email - I'll stop over. Peace.

Ya' know the Tamster has had her fair share of so called hits to the groin and even tho' Peggy Hill will tell you that doesn't work on girls - any time the crowd pops you upside your pride there is a moment of deflation....and pain. Been there, got the TShirt, the key chain picture and the dang bumper sticker - crooked across the hood of my ride.

So I am at an impasse - sappy creature that I am. Sitting here with a hole in my nylons (the feline's goin' down.) and my hair in a frizz - I contemplate my validity and my weird rise to 'interesting' over the past year...little sparks of understanding appearing on my vapid horizon...so this is why some walk away? And I - while I would never leave altho' I could if I wanted to - just like I could give up cheese and bacon and Guinness for life (I'd rather go to a party nekked and painted with yellow polka dots.) But what do I do with my so called interesting self - suddenly faced with more 'invitations' than room on her page? How did that happen to the girl who started here a year ago with the same silly bouquet of cactus pads and pansies penned on the page daily and only an occasional wild rose....(give me a moment to scratch and ponder my validity please) I had four or five friends - three of whom were in the same family and all I of whom I knew face to face. (an exhortation for those of you just stepping into the wild and wonderful blogcircus...)

When I was a little girl I had a rare Birthday party and was allowed to invite 3 friends for a sleepover. Problem was I had three friends and a side kick - and two of the girls were virtually joined at the hip....always a two for one when playing tag and double dutch....I was faced with the unfortunate decision of who to 'not invite' and I chose my best friend - thinking she would understand. No happy endings there - six months later she moved and I've never heard from her again....but the regret remains - and the lesson was painful. In my book of agonies - rejecting is more damaging than rejection....

so I have a choice to make. I can ride it out until I am no longer interesting and the invites subside - and the blogfriends quietly bow out over time until only the really interested remain...but that would require putting people on ignore - and that's not how I roll unless you are 10 and harrassing me with food request whilst I attempt to excrete plot and dialogue. I could simply walk away....(not gonna happen in this lifetime.) or I could post a poll.

I know its my blog and I can do what I want as long as it doesn't involve porn or foul language but its no fun blogging alone. So I post a poll for your displeasure.

I also welcome Sio, Paul, Sunrise, and e.c. I'm just a sappy girl....I hope that blesses you.

Today the part of Tammy will be played by Grendel’s mother.

Ah yes, I lie in waiting….faceless and unseen in the primordial abyss. The roiling sludge bubbles up from my psyche to release noxious oozing vibrations that permeate my existence as far as my span of toxic influence can spread over the bog that is this life. I coil and writhe in angst as I consider the protection of my offspring, my Grendel. Truth is I wait only for the great Nordic beast master to slay me simply because I am female and never to be trusted….esteemed….understood…I am a monster.

So I spent the day at the office being scolded, harangued and rushed through the daily drudge – simply because I used logic (how inappropriate when I could have fawned at the behemoth’s feet in utter despair and been spared the strain of a logical decision) I drag myself to sanctuary only to find that the monkeys have taken over the pagoda and I devoid of internal fire rest upon my tattered rug only to be flogged repeatedly because I committed the sin only allowed by the ever so advanced male monkey – yes I sat on my lazy butt and watched Ugly Betty whilst they attended a scream fest concert….and upon return the 10 year old Chosen One did not in fact have two matching sox laid out lovingly for the morn. You see along with scrubbing the stone floors with my hair, scraping slime off the sacred fountain with my teeth, and nursing the sacred elephant from my own breast – I failed to excrete the necessary garments for my ever so loving child. Um yeah.

and they wonder why I am a monster…..

Its sad when the only pleasantries to cross my field of vision are found in responses from strangers on a blog site. And I am so desperate for a kind word…I take what I can get…

It simply defies Tammy logic. Man work all day. Come home. Eat. Scratch. Fall asleep in chair…(a moment of silence now whilst the chest thumping and dung flinging commences) But I, being female – I must work all day. Come home. Clean. Cook. Assist with homework. Find two sox. Smile. Act nice. And absolutely NEVER scratch or fall asleep in the chair.

And they wonder why I am a monster…

Of course I love ‘em. But today….I want sneak into the castle and rip them all – limb from limb. You see – this monsters’ disguise is my only defense against the flood of tears I hold back from their vision. To be a woman – and a weak, teary eyed one? That is the most illogical choice of all.

Have a wonderful weekend. I plan to come off my page tomorrow morning – so many of you I have not visited…maybe the bipeds in a fit of rage will take my check and buy some d*mn sox, eh? Peace. Someone asked me yesterday if the picture I posted was my own art...no - I only draw little happy things. The tiger above - he's mine. India ink on bunny skin.

As always I didn’t think of this on my own. My son tells me Angelina Jolie will be playing the part of Grendels mom in an upcoming movie….imagine that….

Oh the horror of a blank page. I remember when I was seventeen and invincible I would scribble on scraps of napkins – just because they were empty….spend time coaxing poetry from cranium to notebook in the pre PC days when I sent copies of my purgings to my bandfriends….I was truly alive….

Now I’m sitting here frazzled, I haven’t combed my hair. I have one earring on and the child is cursing my existence because he does not know where his boots are. I have exactly twenty minutes of blog time sandwiched between spawn and gas in the car….

But the Tam has a plan. Ah yes, after marinating in the thick slick of discontentment the gurgling sound is not yesterdays chicken enchilada casserole begging for release but the beautiful noise of a fermented thought.

A Planless Tam is synono – sinomon – a lot like a dumba** and dumba**edness is simply unacceptable. So I have returned to my pursuit of world domination and a man free bathroom – with the goal list du jour….I am ever so happy. All nicely cogitated and categorized whilst watching Scooby Doo Two with little spawn cuddly and soft in my lap. A plan is a good thing. I am confident it will morph into the spine munching brain numbing seething obsession that punctuates my life – that’s how I roll. I have to be on fire…obsessed…anal – or it simply will not fly.

What happened to the girl on the bicycle? She nailed a two point landing, baby! While she cannot fly – she can achieve serious air time – keep all her teeth and scare the crap outta her mama without the benefit of a boy – what more could a little girl want besides a tiara and a fairy wand? (you gotta read yesterday’s blog…I have a random thread going….sorry)

What is the plan? Well that would be incredibly boring and slightly arrogant but it does involve novels one and two of a possible series – another novel with illustrations and two compilations of poetry…All of which I plan to do without Lulu….(self publishing house)

And it includes sniffing around at the other forms of hell with cubicle mates because sometimes peeking over that gray fabric wall provides you with the scare you need to duck and cover realizing you got it good at your own desk with your own action figures and potted plant. Or sometimes you see God and you are whisked away. But you see nothing if you don’t stand up….

I welcome Shiela, KaToRy, SunBird, Kitty Jo, MouseLoveRice, NaZila, Danny, Scrumdidlyumtious, and Kim to the page. Where do you people get that habit of internal capitalization? A couple of you don’t post in English…that’s way cool – maybe I’ll learn something. I also welcome ConejoNegro – thanks dear for accepting my invite…He knows me from another site…he’s been around when my slip was showing so to speak.

I wish you peace. I’m having trouble getting off my own page and the guilt is building so if you’ve blogged something and I missed it – and I shouldn’t have – shoot me an email. I would never put a friend on ignore. I just need a point of contact…and I’m there.

Peace.

The picture of Gollum was lifted from Yahoo search....Just cuz I was thinking about it in the shower...

Somebody please...Shock the monkey to life....

Ah yeah, here I am with my “I got issues” T-shirt, my butt kickin’ boots, my hairs all bunched in a reflexive knot and I am ready for Monday…sure. Truth is – I’m empty. Devoid of original thought. My brain as unwrinkled by cogitation as Paris Hilton. Problem is – she can live out the rest of her sparkly existence without ever shifting the gray matter into second gear…I however – I must somehow find solace in overdrive.

Oh allright I’m over it. The angst, the pity party – yup I shot up all the balloons and drank all the cheap wormless tequila and now the sobriety must begin. (it’s a metaphor. Don’t get it twisted.) The skull numbing routine looms. You see – even chaos can become routine – perhaps the most dangerous path of all when one produces straight cortisol and adrenaline instead of the deep red blood of life that should flow with a force through our veins…or is it tired and sludgy when its in the veins let me see – from the heart through the arteries back to the heart through the veins OH WHATEVER!

Simply put – cuz I’m a simple girl, Tam needs a change. I keep telling myself – job good – unemployment bad and I have not been given permission by my God, my hubby or my internal banshee to walk away yet from the forty thou a year that puts mac and cheese on the table and makes Visa happy every month…nope nope nope. The novella at 178 pages has suddenly morphed from potential best seller to “purile, adolescent, silly waste of laser ink…” so it sits in my virtual black hole of writing gone wrong – eating memory. Lonely and incomplete. Truth is – I’m afraid Bethany will tank upon submission. Yes. I’ve bought roses for too many dream funerals. And the novel is the big mama of them all. It is my escape route, my launch pad – the only egg in the basket. And its safer to become an adult about the whole thing than really try…

So while I drag myself back to my mundane life today – that whirring noise in my head – it’s my little girl. She’s riding her bicycle as fast as she can, hands in the air….aiming for the ramp…She knows she can fly. She believes it. And I am doing my best to resist the urge to scream “STOP! YOU’RE GROUND BOUND!” Who am I really to snuff the dream of a little girl?

Don’t panic. For the few of you who come here daily – Tam’s not going anywhere. Writers write and so do I. I don’t believe in “Writers’ Block” any more than I believe the rest of us plebes “just can’t” do what we were created to do. Truth is, if I waited for the “good copy” I’d have three poems, four blog entries and four friends on my friends list – all of which never post. Kinda defeats the purpose of a blog, huh? Smacks of myspace, right? A change is coming. I just don’t know what it is yet. Truth is, it will require exertion on my part. A removal of head from hind parts. So when I cannot stand the smell, the change will manifest.

Peace. I don’t blog on Sundays….so if you’re new to me – you won’t see me on Sundays. We all need to unplug and be real. That’s my day to do so.

I welcome Narnian Prince, Debbie S, Mizzy, Fionnh, Lelita, Y360 Writers’ Union, Michele M, Nobby, and Sparkling Crafter girl to the page – whatever you see in me – I hope it blesses you.

Skippin' off page....channeling Peter Gabriel...shock the monkey.....

She’s doin’ it agin. Mek ‘er stop. Yes, once again I have come to the page half nekked - totally topless. I am bloggin’ without a brain. It could be both dangerous and stupid – if I had something real to hide…

That which you have been skimming, if in fact you are here for content and not for my lackluster feline pictures pilfered from www.webshots.com big cats collection because I am totally incapable of generating original photography like some of my more talented blog peeps – you may have recognized the sour scent of the mundane disgruntled cubicle rat with a desk full of rice cakes and the chocolate dipped vapor of big dreams encircling her head like a plastic tiara….welcome to my world. Perhaps that image is superimposed over the real owner of ten fingers and a worn keyboard flinging her brown paper bag of leftover thoughts upon the page – that olive loaf sammich of ideas she always gets whilst the prettier blogettes are offered crustless confections of deli heaven. Then stop skimming please….and read me.

Yes, we are what we eat and that childhood soup bowl of lies and metal hangars across my hide produced the entrée before you. The blue plate special. The organic blend of “please stop fighting” and “I’ll be good then you’ll love me” – the aged cask of “unpretty/unpopular/unfunky” poured out for your consumption from a styro cup – that’s me. The analyst. The thinker. The mediator…. The degreed accountant by accident because some supervisor told her she had the nads for the position. And here I be with my nads on a plate. Again.

I find solace in the steady drone of business cycles. I find comfort in generating a paper image of a corporate entity. I am defined by the logic, the routine, the numbers that obey. But I learned at an early age to pull my head out of the toilet when its flushing – and that is the issue at hand. I am an accountant and they keep handing me a plunger and a can of drain cleaner – and dammit – I’m no plumber. That’s the issue. The job for which I was hired no longer exists and I am knee deep in maggots and cockroaches and my flyswatter is fully coated with the slime of pests I cannot control, cannot analyze and cannot escape. Thus the blogging becomes the release I crave….

So here I am daily banging my head and my heart on the monitor till both are pulpy and oozing with drivel and goo. I pass it off as life but I know better. You see – only a venue like this could be a haven amongst the purveyors of flesh and drama – I sit serene with my two kids, my loving hubby, my American buttload of debt and my size 16 jeans whilst the virtual hordes pillage the beautiful and sensitive – they recoil from my page in droves. And I – with my delete button am in complete control of one area of my life. It is my choice to blog. It is my choice to blog nekked and topless. And above all it is my choice to attempt to bring a smile to your face. To bless you. To gently remind you that I make the daily choice for many of you. You give me so much more than I could ever return. You validate me. You are kind. (and I know you’re not here just for my body…uh yeah.) So thank you. Tomorrow I promise to blog responsibly. Just had to excrete the last of the fetid virtual combo plate that is my life.

Peace. I’m a tad behind on visiting some of you and at checking my ‘mail’ so be patient. I will get to all four of you….Really. *muah*

The pic above is me and mines. No really - they're naked mole rats....get it? Its not as funny if I have to 'splain it....sigh.....

Or even two....the pic above my friends is pilfered from the internet after a search on the words rat's butt. *smirk*.

Is it possible? Has the gentle Tamster taken the advice of new buddies and decided to stop caring, thusly positioning herself in the formidable mindset of "I don't give a rodents rump about _______ (insert issue here) ____________ (and favorite expletive here)" Is it possible? Sure. I could also sprout a third eye in the center of my forehead. Think of the excitement that would bring to my little Yahoo page.

Seriously, I often come to the page mentally nekked. Little to say, and less time to say it. I am often motivated only by the random comments of lurkers and friends. There is legitimate and sound wisdome to be garnered from putting one's self in a state of 'not caring.' We can only take on so much, right? At some point we become full and I am past full. Truth is, there are things I know I should stop caring about because when you are powerless, caring only produces stomach acid, gray hairs and stress fat - non of which are cute on a Tammy. But there's the rub. What pressure per pound will produce a state of I no longer care....What kind of ulgy monster will surface when my protective shield comes up, I lock and load and consider the survival of my own sanity over the corporate soul sucking behemoth....what then.

I've said before. I'm not geared for the machine in which I am currently installed as a very small - silent cog...my teeth are shearing one by one....and when I fall clear....what then.

I agree. Sometimes it is not in your best interest to care about that which will not matter in five years or ten....that which your set of standards and your hard work will not change. If it only produces a paycheck....could you bring home a different brand of bacon? Yes. Is it worth your mental health? The sacrifice you make when you alienate your spouse, bark at your spawn, and spew sewage on your blog page? No.

then what the heck am I doin? Well, I'm draggin my sewage spewin' gray haired, corpulent, barkin' snarlin' rodent like back side through life.....just like some of you. When did we give up our dreams to join the machine? Who's gonna mutiny first?

PS. No rodents were harmed in the posting of this blog. Peace. - I'll be catching up this evening - stepping off my page. Lurking....snooping. Yup. That's how I roll....

So I stole the picture off of the internet during a search for "Grendel" - its nekked and scary. Let's see if the powers that be delete it..ha

I'm in a rotten mood. If I could spit venom I'd be wallowing in dead people right now. If I could spit acid - the house would be sizzling...But with my luck I'd try to spit and the wind would blow it back into my eyes...

I expected a quiet day. I spent about six hours fighting freakin' fires at work - because there is no set plan anymore and we just wait until things combust to deal with them...and only one of us is allowed to have the brain. The rest of us have to stand around with our fingers in an orifice grunting and whining. And for a few - even grunting and whining with a planted finger is too much multitasking to deal with.

I come home after a dinner "out" with the boy and grendel and the papas and chile are about half staff in my gullet - burning up the pipes...and all we have is that damnable fruit flavored Tums crap. I could eat sidewalk chalk and get the same effect without that horrific St Joe's Orange aspirin slash potty water aftertaste.

I'm trying to print something nice and purpley for this class I am cofacilitating and I get tie dye because I need a red cartridge for my BA (yes I have a BIG BAD LASER PRINTER. FEEL THE POWER. AR AR AR) printer but do I have money to go get a red cartridge? .... So everything is green.

And to cap it - I am jumping through the rim of my sphincter to attempt to give that moronic testosterone producing mass of male flesh a nice party tomorrow for his damn birthday and his parting shot was a rant about one freakin' shirt and pair of jeans on a hanger - still on his side of the damn bed. OH MY GOD I AM THE ANTICHRIST for leaving something on his side of the bed after he has asked me not to. I know its a little pitiful thing - but so are the books stacked on the table and the shit on the end table and the front yard that hasn't been cut all summer and the stinkin' pile o apples thats attracting hordes of flies and several skunks and the van in the back yard with birds nests in the engine and the floor to ceiling black hole that our "spare half assed built room" is and the garage....yeah. one frickin' shirt. I'm the scum of the earth and I should be flogged with a hanger. Well to flippin' late. My mama already beat him to it.

So tomorrow will come - I will run my anus off from sunrise to sunset and perhaps his Hoityness will pleasantly thank me for the party. Perhaps I'll get a peck on the cheek and some obligatory uh...yeah...I'd rather have the damn table cleaned. That would excite me. Right now the prospect of my nekked and snoring MONSTER is doing little for me. In more ways than one.

I do love him. He's a good dad. But sometimes he really sucks twinkies in the caring manly club a mammoth and bring home a tusk for the wifey department. I get dirty socks and dirty clothes and dirty looks...bills to pay - never enough hot water for a bubble bath...most days I ignore it - but tonight - dammit. He coulda shut up and hung the damn shirt. It was an arms length from the closet. Instead, he ranted and pissed me off in the process - after an evening of WWE and the cat sleeping on his lap whilst I vacuumed and swept. Lovely.

So tomorrow...who knows if I will get to the blog. I may make the news tho'. Send bail money. I have to go slaughter Grendel now and beat him over the head with his own arm.

Peace