Be Brave Project, Day 20: 9 out of 10 Wise Guys Agree: Take Your *%#@! Beta Blockers!

Thank God for the days off from Being Brave! I've come to realize that Being Brave produces an odd combination of feelings, none of which are comfortable: Anxiety, embarrassment, boredom. . .and the constant nagging thought--Have I Been Brave yet today? Oh, crap--would that count as being brave?

What's become clear is that, in many instances, what I call "Being Brave" is what other people would think of as basic self care. Taking care of your credit, tending to your career, maintaining contacts, taking proper care of your body and its necessities.

An example: For some reason I kept procrastinating a very simple call to my cardiologist in Chicago (I like my cardiologists the way I like my bankers: Handsome, Midwestern and Jewish). For some reason Duane Dumbass Reade, the pharmacists here in NYC, hadn't understood that my prescription was supposed to have re-fills. I've taken these pills since I was diagnosed at the age of 20, and believe me, sudden withdrawal from beta-blockers is no one's idea of a fun afternoon. The tightening of the heart, the shaking of the hands and the sudden sweating, all exacerbated by the worry that very soon one might just pass out. . .it's no good. (Though I did publish a piece in The Guardian about a ghastly withdrawal I went through in Paris one year, and was paid in Lovely Lovely pounds sterling).

Anyway, why procrastinate that phone call? Did I imagine the cardiologist's people would say, "Sweat it out, beta blocker bitch--no pills for you!" Did I think that my need for these pills would suddenly go away, like a yen for pesto or the urge to see a mid-week matinee? No. I didn't think any of these things. I just didn't feel like calling to ask for help. Knowing, as I did, that eventually I would have to call, I decided to just put it off. . .

That is just a little example of how an ex-lush, however fit and trim and nowadays filled with broccoli and calcium, can casually create a little drama and chaos in her life. And for some reason it requires an act of consciousness, and of bravery, for me to place a necessary call. I think that we have successfully established that I don't like authority figures, which is rather bizarre because I used to feel I WAS one. Ah well, the many complexities of Woman.

Yesterday I placed a lot of phone calls/emails in the morning. I emailed a former employer, a Web Publishing company for whom I wrote/edited/worked as consultant, to ask for copies of my tax information. Haven't heard back. I called Jefferson Capital Systems about 14 times to find out why they have placed negative information on my credit report when I signed up to make payments on an old debt the minute they contacted me, and have made my payments on time every time. I did the word count on a Self essay, and realized I have to cut over a page from my submission. Ouch! I also have been combing that brilliant credit site to find out about the world of credit and how to 'diversify my portfolio'.

Ooh that sounds so knowledgable and sexy! I also learned about off-shore phone calls being a sign of sub-prime cards, and that it's a good idea to get a card from a Credit Union. Which I think I shall try to do.

Went to an AA meeting yesterday and IT finally happened. The thing that any NYC lush dreams of: The man who spoke was connected. As in a Wise Guy. Fantastic stories of having no social security number, but owning these lush places on Long Island and the Upper East Side, of the girls and the drugs and the DUIs, of dropping an envelope off here and picking up some money there, 'helping some guys out'. . .Most excellent. The guy even had eyes like DeNiro--the sad humorous look under a twisted brow.

Damn, I love New York City.

Right now my neighbors are cooking bacon and it smells so good I could gnaw my way through their wall. And my landlords actually put a lock on our front door! Living large.