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.


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.


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.

The Net's Miracle Marketing
Silicon Spin.
Hey, Brill's Content, Over Here!
Programmers Need Unions
Girls Need Math, and Jewish Women Need Technology
New References Galore!

thanks, COMOFLOW





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996, 1997, 1998 Rebecca L. Eisenberg All rights Reserved.