Are you good at self-love?

No I don’t mean THAT kind of self-love, you grotesque deviants.

Today is International Love Yourself Day. It falls on February 13th for two reasons:

  1. You know that old adage: ‘you can’t love some other loathsome bastard until you learn to love your own loathsome bastard self’ (or summit like that)? Well today is all about showering yourself with love in order to prepare for the onslaught of tomorrow’s scarlet-hued shenanigans when you are expected to show the one you love (aka your regular arguing partner) how much you love arguing with them by giving them a shit card and trying not to argue over an extortionately-priced dinner in a restaurant filled with other couples trying not to argue.
  2. Because you’re single and tomorrow will wish you were dead. You deserve a day of self-love before the day of self-loathing.

I began my day of self-love with an early morning meeting at school with youngest’s teacher. It was about his behaviour. It did not make me feel very lovely.

After a brief weep in the car, I resolved to get cracking with the self-love agenda. My first task was to smoke a fag IN THE KITCHEN while watching The Wright Stuff. My nicotine-withdrawn, parentally-challenged self felt very loved. My panicky fragrance-candle-lighting, back-door-flapping self felt very loathed…

Onwards! I made myself an outstanding cortado coffee. A small internal debate took place over whether an accompanying slice of toast would be self-loving or loathing. After three slices of toast slathered in butter and jam, I was able to say with certainty that it is more loathy than lovey…

‘Oh Annagram, quit it with the food-shaming!’ I said out loud to myself, (because referring to myself by the name of my online writing persona is not creepy arseholery) while making another cortado and gathering a selection of biscuits and mini-cakes. ‘Stop looking at your physical self (everyone else has) and instead focus on loving and nurturing your inside self; your inner life; your deeply original and inspiring mind. Annagram, go upstairs and write your book.’

But first I had to bathe. For me, bathing is a kind of meditation. As my body is cleansed and relaxed, my bright and vibrant mind is opened and allowed the space to release its creative treasures.

After an hour of being woken every few seconds by the bone-shaking snores of a swamp ogre, I finally could take the tepidness of the water no longer. Plus my pokey-outy bits were freezing. Plus my pokey-outy bits made me feel unlovely.

Another cortado, a restorative cheese sandwich, a fag, another fag and here I am, sitting at my desk, overwhelmed with feelings of unlovelyness towards my lazy-arsed, procrastinating, greedy, addicted, breeder of SHIT KIDS.

I go to my WordPress site.

And discover I have been nominated for a blogging award.

I repeat: I HAVE BEEN NOMINATED FOR A BLOGGING AWARD.

It’s called The Blog-aholic Award. Leaving aside my icky feelings over that hyphen, I am thrilled. Created by the successful blog site The Recipe Hunters (Cook and Enjoy) it is an award for bloggers who are: “addicted to blogging with creative, ingenious and inspiring posts which mesmerise their followers, keeping them captivated and riveted.”

Which is literally a description of both my personality and my blog in one slightly overly-long sentence, yes?

Now then, as with the Grammys and Baftas, you plebs are not able to vote for me. This is because unlike the Grammys and Baftas, there is no…erm…actual winner. No actual award. No event to turn up to in a sparkly dress and control pants. You just get nominated by another blogger and the reward is it might bring more followers to your site. In return you nominate other bloggers.

I know. Just as I was about to phone up Givenchy and ask if they had anything middle-aged, brassy-looking, plump for me. But this may be as close as I ever get to an award of any kind since winning the 16th lengths swimming badge aged 5 (which was extraordinary seeing as my older sister had yet to achieve it – for which she has never forgiven me, along with my managing to have a baby before her even though she’d been married for yonks and I wasn’t even living with Gwyneth…) and I intend to embrace this almost-win and milk it for at least the next few paragraphs.

The blogger who nominated me is the splendid Summer SHINES who writes muchly helpfully and honestly about all kinds of mentalish shizzle. Do check her out. 

The writers I am nominating (but who you must never love as much as you do me) are:

The Psy of Life is a brill source of political biz with a psychological slant. His stuff on Trump et al is fab. Clever guy.

Bunmi Laditan blogs on facebook about kids and mumming and also mental biz. V funny. I’m too crap to work out how to share the link to her page but you can find her on facebook. Her website is here but is just a promo for her new book which I buys immediately.

My Midlife Mayhem is delightful. Menopausey shenanigans and more.

Motorhome News blows all other blogs out of the blogosphere. It’s all about travelling around in your motorhome. It’s also written by my Dad…nepotism, moi?

Well, I don’t know about you but I am now loving myself to an unprecedented degree. So much so I may have another cortado and a snooze.

Winning (almost) awards is EXHAUSTING…

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