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.

march 16, 1997:


t h e . i d e s . o f . m a r c h

Pink Floyd has this song that I used to like a lot about 15 years ago. It is called "Comfortably Numb."
"I ... have become ... comfortably numb."

Even though I am listening to hip hop right now, the song keeps resonating in my skull.

Yesterday, on the Ides of March, we took Elizabeth's ashes and we spread them through a garden.

And I am trying to understand what warning I failed to heed. I can find none.

We stood in a circle and shared stories from the college days. She was a drinker, a thinker, a friend, lover and rebel.

Then her best friend (or one of them) held up a clear rectangular container from Akia, about 12 by 4 by 8 inches, that was filled with gray sand, with black and white granular specks mixed in. He gripped the container tightly, walked onto the garden patch, and tossed some of the gray sand into an arc on the black soil. He handed the container to the next person, who also sprinkled the sand, until all of us who had wanted to sprinkle had done so.

The black soil patch, about 10 feet by 10 feet, was decorated with waves of white and gray. There was no particular pattern in the curves and lines.

And 20 swords pierced me through my heart, then a 2 ton weight came to rest on top of them.

Later, it started to rain.

I suspect that when I die, it will be of heartbreak. After watching Yale's coffin lower into the ground, his brother, sister and mother sprawled on top, I thought that things could not get much worse.

In the car, from the service to the cemetery, Yale's college roommate had turned to us and said, "Just think of all of the joy Yale will be missing. It is so sad." And I had turned to John and said, "think of all the pain he is missing. It is, perhaps, not bad."

I will be O.K.. I am still here. This too will fade. I am lucky.

Because I have become a bit numb. Numb is not good; it is interfering with my productivity, health and focus.

I fear that being numb to pain can also make one immune to pleasure. But I am not sure.

I cannot be both comfortable and numb. It is paradoxical to me, even though on a logical level that makes no sense.

So I will choose numb. And stay uncomfortable.

There were some birthdays.

March 3: Happy B-Day to Eduardo (6) and Jay (30).

March 4: Happy B-Day to Christine (29).

Thanks, Piscesfriends. Your creativity rocks my ramworld.

new stuff
da mayor and me
Act Up


Elizabeth's Obituary





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

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