Be Brave Project, Day 18: Ah, the Days When I Allowed Myself Distractions. . .

Don't really feel like writing anything here today: I sort of wish I could resume my normal off-line journals, which I have been keeping every morning for years and in which I do feel less need to censor myself--and no need at all to be even vaguely interesting! It's an unusual combination: Uncensored yet dull.

Could be the title of some ex-Saturday Night Live Cast Member's next concert film. "Eddie Murphy--Uncensored Yet Dull!"

But. . .must keep moving forward. In the last few days I've been trying to keep my eyes focused on just moving my goals forward, quietly, just in an undramatic inch-by-inch method. I have:

-Sent 2005 tax information to the Dream Accountant.

-Mailed Proof of Payment of an old debt to the NYC courts.

-Rec'd and signed form for new organization of bank accounts.

-Organized new debit card so I get miles for using it.

-Received 2006 tax information.

Still need to get more of the 2006 tax crap, and to keep moving forward on letting the credit companies know my debt to Asset Acceptance has been paid--though I don't know if that'll remove the negative information from my credit report. Should ask the guy from the 123Credit link on the right here. Also should call old Web publishing employers for old tax forms.

But today I'm going to work on that damned Self essay. Need to check word count (it may be over, which would be v. annoying. . .), write cover note to Paula Derrow. Essay needs to have more personal detail, as in age and current life. I read several old Self Expression essays in the mag, and they're not too strong on either dialogue or humor, which is good for me (in this case).

So I'm going to skip the AA meeting today, I think. Just don't feel like doing the meditation that's the focus of the Thursday meeting, and I also am feeling slightly--actually, perilously--over-exposed since the qualification earlier in the week.

Oh boring boring it all feels so boring!! Four years ago I was dating a 6 foot 5 rugby player and living in South West London, going to pubs and parties and staying in the odd country house on the weekends, visiting. . .oh, let's face it, I was hungover every goddamn day. Either working illegally or hemorrhaging money in some way, starving myself so I could save the calories for night, for booze. All dolled up in the evening, but during the day eating one McDonald's cheeseburger (which are better tasting over there--must be the subtle flavoring the mad cow disease imparts), or a sad old Tesco egg-mayonnaise sandwich. And as for the rugby playing big boy? He was absolutely lovely--and I didn't give a crap, about him or me.

But oh, I wish I had him around now. I'd love to cook him enormous meals of Tarragon Chicken and vegetables, and cut brick-sized slabs of home-made tarte tatin for his dessert; I'd rent him dvds and sit on his lap as he watched them, I'd find him some rugby games here in NYC. (But he'd have to do his own laundry. I draw a line there.)

Sigh. Anyway. Shower. Self magazine. Being Brave. Ok, ok.