​Even though I identify fully as a grown woman I suspect there are at least two teenaged males rambling around in my brain. And I believe this because 15 pages in to my new novel project I realize that one or two paragraphs are story line and the rest is purile banter punctuated by inappropriate body noises and scene shifts.
As though all the moments I've held my tongue in the presence of idiocy come spilling out on the page - sans outright vulgarity. 24 grit writing when I want subtle, refined.
This wouldn't be the first sojourn through hostile sidekick takeover land. And I'm no stranger to the smartass effect wherein I open a vein, bleed a litany into the ether and crickets....But rant about stepping on a cat toenail on the way to the throne of power in the predawn hours and er'body loves it. This is why I do not adhere to a persona.
I'm not complaining and for the moment I will allow the shenanigans to proliferate until such time as I feel I have reached that pinnacle of "first rough draft" Editing at this stage only irks the Banshee and she has enough fuel in real life. The only intentional difference this go round is that I am writing because I am a writer. I have no monetary agenda, no focus group no pending platform.
I'm just along for the ride - unless those teenaged males devolve to anarchy. Then we breakout the almighty red pen and the backspace bar.
Peace.

​And now that special post wherein our village idiot tosses her ample unmentionables over the picket fence to air in the crisp winter breeze. Or not.
I made the mistake of "checking my chart" - you know - getting on line and reading what your medical professional really thinks about you. "She does not understand why she still has a gaping head wound when she doesn't bludgeon herself with a maul" YA THINK?
I fully comprehend the "chronic issue" specifically outlined in my after visit summary - but it is certainly not a stand alone deal - nor am I actually an idiot. (I just play one on FB) I was attempting to give you - medical professional - specific information regarding the primary thing I DO NOT do that usually primarily contributes to and exacerbates my chronic issue.
I am really attempting to defer to a professional with education and experience. I desire to be respectful and appropriate. I understand the "majority" governs the rules of treatment. But I live in this body. I know how it responds - and how it is NOT responding to the standard treatment for the primary symptom - because the primary symptom isn't the primay issue but a secondary result.
I get why people give up, take the pills, become sicker and eventually succumb to their mortality. We're like dogs licking the hand that beats us because it feeds us too and we don't know how to hunt for ourselves.
Good thing I'm a werewolf.
Peace.

​IYKYK right? Actually, not so much. I heard it again recently. "Are these your words?" As if there is a soul left in the universe who knows me yet is unaware that this middle aged, fluffy gramma with the soul sucking accountant day job is at her core a writer wannabe. Who, if afforded the luxury, would ditch the day job, don a sequin smattered tutu, dye the gray mop indigo blue and write her unicorn lovin' heart out. Yes, deep within also lurks a formidable coyote minded banshee bent on angst and monetization - but for the most part Tam loves words and wants to be with them 24/7.
2022 and to a lesser degree the 2 years preceding forced me to focus on myself, on mortality, on the chaos that ensues when goals and dreams and identities are contingent on the capricious desires of others. I wanted to matter. I wanted to be enough. I wanted to be 150lbs again. And because these wants became all consuming - my life is a hot mess. And so be it because I am above all a writer and I have stories to tell.
I'm not ditching the day job. Clean eating requires an unholy outlay of cash and no matter how resistant the flesh is - the spirit is much more stubborn. For the moment I remain grizzled and tutuless...
But there are three featherless squawking babies in my writer nest. 3 novels. We'll see what fledges ... what succumbs to predation... and as we progress I'm going to dust off Ephesus and seek publication. Its been inert for two years. Kinda like me.

​Random precoffee rant in three, two, one:
I'm neither hippie, nor zealot. Rather, I actually struggle with the tenants of my faith with respect to "healing". I'm inclined to desire the quick fix, the easy way and I respect those who've dedicated large portions of their lives and their money for education. But (insert expletive here) wow. I'm trying to conquer some chronic health issues here - and as I get one re-wrangled another probably transient issue pops up like a mole hill in a fresh cut lawn - and my medical professional says something to the effect of "this is good so keep taking this AND consider adding this - and this is NOT good so we want you to take this" not EVEN connecting the ugly dots that if I concede to ingesting the third "this" it can damage the very organ that is trying to wrest back control to continue to deal with the first "this" Enter stress in massive waves. I don't need fifty prescription meds so I can remain miserable, fat and chemically dependent. I need my body to work as it was designed to do. If that is the harder road - so be it. Big Pharma - I am not your science project. If one needs life saving medication - take it - but shoving a pill at a symptom based on a number and not listening to the person - I cannot trust that method

​Dear 2023. You're only a little over a week old and already you're doing it wrong. You do not need to be 2022 the sequel.
We are still slogging through the morass that was my maternal famiilial "legacy." I continue to "invest" with no clear view of "return" but because people adhere to the letter of a law that serves no one rather than the simplicity of resolution for a situation. The only entities benefiting at this point are corporate lawyers and state government. Instead of helping humans they are engaged in defending words. If I weren't paying the mortgage to prevent foreclosure I would find this laughable. 2023 - do the right thing. Seriously.

​And just like that, I've become that which I so greatly feared: a middle aged, empty nester who displaces all her pent up maternal energy on a small feline. I've sensed the shift for months, ignoring it as I strolled through Petco, husband in tow, searching for a replacement kitty water fountain. "He needs new toys..." and we exited with more than one....Alas, it gelled this morning - well before dawn when I, inert and dreaming sensed a presence. A dark figure mere inches from my face. A sentient ebony blot - studying me for some dark purpose...A grapple ensued. Purrs and incantations flung across the void....
Okay, I woke up to find Flynt, our resident "voidling", awkwardly perched on my shoulder. And rather than launching him into the next time zone, I grabbed him, mauling him until he purred. Had it been the husband awakening me - there would have been cursing and possible bloodletting. But the cat? So much awkward cuddling. He probably wanted to be let out, or fed - but he got scritches.
Does this make me a crazy cat lady?

​I have no sadness in seeing 2022 fade in my rearview. It was truly one of the most difficult years of my life. In years past, I've made the resolutions, I've set the goals all with various successes and failures. This year will be different. I am - due to so much loss over the past couple of years - reticent to take up a goal, a project, a dream. So I am easing into January. There will be moments. Small goals. Little victories. And we'll see how things progress.
As for you - I hope your 2023 is full of love and joy and amazing things! Peace.