Last January, I had a purge of my New Age, feel-better collection. I threw out Rosemary Conley's diet books and Geri Halliwell's yoga DVD. Even my collection of aromatherapy room-enhancer sprays went to Oxfam. I ditched the commercial sector in favour of my very own series of mantras, collected down the years. Some I thought up all by my ickle self, while others you might recognise from great thinkers such as Bart Simpson. In every tricky situation, instead of just getting pissed, I'd (first) say one of these about 20 times under my breath.
1) You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.
2) Just do it.
3) Don't scratch it, wash it.
4) It's showtime!
My all-time favourite, to be used with care, is:
5) If they can't take a joke, fuck 'em.
This January, it's back to the New Age stuff, thanks to an unexpected "New Year's gift". Another self-help bible. Giving a self-help book to someone is an underhand way of churning out unwanted advice. You have to thank the person for their thoughtfulness but, at the same time, both of you know that they think you "need a little help". Grrr. Men don't buy each other stuff like this. The nearest my husband ever got to tinkering with his inner self was to read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. He only read it to help him quell the urge to set fire to his bike every time it broke down. What a sensible, non-neurotic way of life. Compare that with my Bridget Jones circle, who can declare a broken nail an emotional state of emergency warranting its own shelf at Waterstone's.
The book I've been given is Natural Superwoman. "The survival guide for women who have too much to do," the author said kindly.
I read on, inevitably sucked in by the girlie, yet chic, pages. The author assured me that her book wasn't the usual hotchpotch of New Age sayings mixed with age-old truisms. Gosh no, she's written a "down-to-earth, practical guide to achieving an all-important equilibrium between inner needs, material necessities and interconnectedness with the community at large, so that life can be led harmoniously according to sound values which are universal to most cultures". Yippee.
Before I knew it, I was soaking in a bath full of herbs and spices, surrounded by candles. Though my breath came out in icy plumes, I stayed in the bath for almost 40 minutes. A feat so brave (it's -1 C up there) that my grandad later declared it "beyond even Ranulph Fiennes".
The point of staying in the bath for that long was not endurance (although it took a great deal) but to "reward myself" for my hard work. To give up feeling guilty for spending time on myself - "see the positive side and call it 'self-altruism'". Roughly translated into English, I was being told to take a break, because "I'm worth it".
In just over a week, I have fallen in love with my new book - my new best friend. She's helped me fight off the post-Christmas blues with her jolly assurance that just a little time eating my greens will undo the weeks of dairy abuse. As for the trauma of facing a New Year as usual behind with the accounts, the washing, the cleaning, my work: no problem, my book persuaded me that spending six hours designing spreadsheets will help me manage my time better in 2004.
For the first time, my filing system consists of actual files rather than two dozen torn A4 envelopes stuffed with receipts, work contracts, decade-old parking fines. Even my filing system now has its own filing system!
Must be off - I've rose petals to strew about my bedroom.
