Craving Touch

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My mother used to love brushing my hair. I remember my first hairbrush too – it was white, shell shaped and had gentle ridges in it. The bristles were soft and white. I can still remember the feel of it in my little hand as I sat in my pram in the garden, going back and forth over the bristles, watching the steps up to the house. Watching for her probably.

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8 Things to Call Yourself Out on

sunrise shanagarry , Cork Ireland
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(Gently but firmly …)

I saw a list of 8 bullet points on a meme last week on social media – Twitter if memory serves – and I saved it. Today I trawled my way through various rabbit holes in Google to find the original author and cannot, so I can’t credit appropriately, which always irks…

But I’m sharing them anyway! Because they’re good. I’ve added to them here and I think they’ll speak to many, as they did to me.

SO – without further ado:

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It’s a weird one!

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Usually at this time of year I’m writing posts like “how to survive the family at Christmas”. So this is weird. This whole year has been weird hasn’t it?

Weird, strange, difficult, scary, heartbreaking, lonely, interesting. Quite a lot to pack into to a 9 month long existential crisis. It’s been a a prison, an escape, a torture, an opportunity, a learning, an eye opener, a mind opener, a mind closer…

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