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.

december 16, 1997:
leap before you look

It's amazing how little I have had to say lately.

I used to think that stress was invigorating. I now find it immobilizing.

Last year at this time I was in Hawaii, having trouble believing how lucky I was. I'm still lucky this year -- maybe more so -- but for some reason none of it feels the same when I'm not in Hawaii.

I was sick, on and off, for the last week, or two weeks, more or less. I haven't kept good track of time. Tonight I noticed that I had not even flipped the page in my Filofax in several days.

I am trying to sell off everything I own that is not essential. I had way, way too much work for a blurry while, then all of a sudden it stopped; all of a sudden I had none. And I couldn't move, because everything I touched was breaking -- my VCR, my ceiling, the promises made by companies that were supposed to be paying me. My landlord is trying to evict me again because I demanded the interest that he owes me, under law, on my security deposit, because I requested that he fix the heat in my apartment to bring it up to legal standards, and because I told him that the roof was leaking and water was dripping into my apartment. He called me a liar and told me that I am too rich to be asking for the interest to which I am legally entitled. He came by my apartment with an entourage of 8 without notice the other night and tried to force his way in. He lodged his foot in the doorway so far that I could not close it. He shoved me when I wouldn't let him in, but I shoved the door and slammed it shut, his foot be damned. I called 911 and when the police arrived showed them the spot on the ceiling where the rain seeping through the roof had left a water stain. I may get a gun for Christmas. And everything that is not essential, I am trying to sell.

I update this page out of obligation to say something, but my thoughts are dark. The tension of being trapped, albeit temporary and perhaps illusory, is tiring.

When will things be less hard already?

Net Kids Rate Their Censors.
Dealing With Virtual Profits
Girls Need Math!
skink home

Vote for me!





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

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