roused to act

Ever have an infestation problem? You know, something that there are many, many of and you don't know where they are all hiding? Me, too.

I've had to waste valuable editing and writing and recording time cleaning up my blog. Why? If you've been following this little mindgame, you don't need to ask. But in a nutshell, I'm getting overrun by comments from someone who persists in pretending to be someone she is not.

But I am losing patience.

Jaz: Hang in there. You had a rough evening yesterday and I am sure reading the BS that a mindgamer wants to play is not fun. I've tried to go through and plow up the obvious crap in the comments. Any others you see that are clearly not yours, let me know.

NJ (Not Jazz): Stop. Now. You know you are not Jaz and you persist in sending out these illusions. You are either inexplicably cruel or somewhat delusional. Back off, you don't want me angry. I can assure you of this.

I will probably just have to take this discussion, and perhaps even this blog, offline. Unfortunate, but perhaps necessary. Such behaviours forced me to withdraw from the world of the AOL Writers Club when half the world seemed to want to pretend they were "the Panther". I suppose, as a writer, I should be flattered that there are people who identify so strongly with my work that they stalk me in cyberspace.

You should have had to deal with the problem in Los Angeles. A major slice of the reason why I chose Morgantown over LA as my retreat target after the insanity of my second marriage was the fact that I would have less problem with the more ardent admirers here. Smaller town, less problems.

Guess it is time to quit running from my problems and confront them. Guess its time to get off my ass an on my feet and stop figuring the world will sooner or later punch itself out.

California, I'm coming home.