The whole purpose to my internet adventure is to shame myself into admitting the dreadful flaws in my personality: addiction; self-deception; cruelty to fellow humans; inability to concentrate; general lack of ambition (coupled with keen desire to be rich/ win the lottery and F. Off out of here); ungenerousness of spirit. The list goes on. But my attention doesn’t.
Anyway, the brand new, all improved me is supposed to be descending down to earth today to seep in by miraculous osmosis into my alcohol, nicotine ridden body, purging my disintegrating veins of their sins, failures, wrinkles and naughty habits. The old me is to be sent off on an extended holiday with a one way ticket. I kind of feel jealous of the old me though. I bet it’s off to Mauritius or somewhere glorious like that while I, healthy and fabulous, have to stay in crummy old, crime infested Lambeth.
The new me has got off to a good start. If you discount the horrendous Sunday morning hang over, the new me has eaten super healthy home made bread followed by a stunning 10km run. Yes. 10km. It’s amazing. The new me is a powerhouse of virtuous energetic manliness, pounding the streets of London, sweaty and ruddy of cheek, drinking super cleansed filtered water.
The new me is knackered. Unfortunately, having returned from said 10km (!!!) run, the new me then spent too much time messing about on the internet and not getting down to writing/planning (whatever) the best selling novel that is going to catapult me into the galaxy of literary mega stars who get onto Desert Island Discs and sound smug. This is indeed extremely naughty as it means I’ve lied to the beloved bf (J) as I said I couldn’t go round to his friends for lunch as I was busy being a creative genius. Mind you, after all the New Year shenanigans I think I should be let off that one at least. New me forgiven.
Of course the new me shouldn’t really go out and get a bottle of wine later – and certainly shouldn’t buy any cigarettes as the old me was 100% convinced last night stumbling home (from a very good night at Yuckie with Mr T) like a homeless wino that the cigarette he was smoking was really the last one OF ALL TIME. But then again, the new me doesn’t have to go into the office tomorrow as the old me somehow managed to wangle a day working at home (well done old me). So, with this in mind, I think perhaps the new me should celebrate…
New me is listening to the charts on radio one (he’s so with the kids) and would just like to say that there are some truly dreadful songs around. No.17: ‘I love it when you call. But you never call at all. Woo.’ Pllllllease. New me not impressed.
(Thursday 11 - there. All up to date. Phew.)
