READ ME!


READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.


august 11, 1998:
when the shit hits the fan

Death and life are in the power of the tongue.


I was not going to say anything. I was going to hold my tongue and have grace. I was going to move on, silently. That was the plan.

But then I received an email, forwarded from another, under the promise that I would not tell or pass it on. I will keep that promise, except to the extent that I repeat a few lines, a few sentences:

At first, it was fun. Then it got weird. There was a not-so-romantic interlude where I felt pretty violated by his behavior with me.

[snip]

I want to tell her everything. I want to let her know all the things I found out too late -- some of which I found out from his other victims, and yes, I can call them that and mean it. I am so angry I am almost shaking; I feel sick.

[snip]

I must be a bad person because I don't have the guts to say this to his face. Or to anyone's.

And the plan changed.

I have the guts.
You messed with the wrong bitch this time.


I don't give them hell. I just tell the truth and they think it's hell.
-Truman


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Copyright 1996, 1997, 1998 Rebecca L. Eisenberg mars@bossanova.com. All rights Reserved.