Author has written 98 stories for Love, Life, Friendship, Romance, Mythology, Young Adult, General, General, Politics, Fantasy, Essay, and Spiritual.
(Previously known as TammyGreen)
I live on music and quotes and beds and cameras and writing and wanting and my guitar. I wish I was a lesbian because boys suck, and I wish my hair took bleach better. I wish I wasn't short. I am the self-hating reckless daughter of a cautious, slightly homophobic, very prejudice stereotypical Jewish mother and live to be everything she is not. I might be failing.
The taxes are too damn high. Religion breeds stupidity, but the culture and rituals are fascinating. Gay rights are a GIVEN, not something to be debated. You have the right to do whatever you wish as long as it doesn't breach someone else's rights or harm them in anyways. Nostalgia breeds a culture of retro-mania, and museums should be burned if they are about something less than 50 years old. Library are where ever child should be able to live in. Media focus on freak accident/anomaly's instead of things that happen every day - in Chicago every day, someone is shot - and this is wrong. Everyone is equal. Different but equal. Grammar is debatable, and long sentences, when used right, can be glorious. Tests are not an accurate measure of one's intelligent. Ownership is not romantic. Slut shaming is not okay - sex is okay, and there is power that comes owing that desire and responsibility and someone is not less of person because they have sex. This is a belief - this is my opinion. I might be wrong. I often am.
I have insomnia and ADD and migraines, a lisp, and a confused cat. I want to tell you (whoever you happen to be) everything about myself, absolutely everything, but that would be stupid. Apparently. I talk a lot. Apparently. Please, P.M. me when ever you want, whoever you are, if you need advice, or just want to be close, talk to me whenever - but if I write you out of the blue one day to tell you that I absolutely love your blog and I would really like to buy you a cup of coffee someday to talk about life — don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I am a bitch. I am a bitch because I am outspoken and stubborn and have masculine traits and if that makes me a bitch, so be it.
I am not a nice person. I refuse to be a nice person - nice has held me down far too long, and there is no way I will let it stop me anymore. So don't call me nice.
Rules bother me. Limits bother me. Stereotypes bother me. Over sharing bothers me, even though I'm doing that at the moment.
If anyone has any stories they want me to write, any ideas for prompts or anything, I'd be happy to write for ya'll. Just send a P.M., eh?
"Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today."
“On the late afternoon streets, everyone hurries along, going about their own business.
“I want to take back at least half of the “I love you”s, because I didn’t mean them as much as the other ones. I want to take back the book of artsy photos I gave you, because you didn’t get it and said it was hipster trash. I want to take back what I said about you being an emotional zombie. I want to take back the time I called you “honey” in front of your sister and you looked like I had just shown her pictures of us having sex. I want to take back the wineglass I broke when I was mad, because it was a nice wineglass and the argument would have ended anyway. I want to take back the time we had sex in a rent-a-car, not because I feel bad about the people who got in the car after us, but because it was massively uncomfortable. I want to take back the trust I had while you were away in Austin. I want to take back the time I said you were a genius, because I was being sarcastic and I should have just said you’d hurt my feelings. I want to take back the secrets I told you so I can decide now whether to tell them to you again. I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it. I want to take back at least half the “I love you”s, because it feels safer that way.”
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