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India Flint's avatar

There was a resident being in a house we lived in thirty years ago who we deemed responsible for hiding things that could not be found when they were needed.

He was called James, hailed from a nameless village a little west of Aberdeen, and (according to my children) had red hair and wore a pink tutu.

We left him behind for the new owners.

When we came to this house, we discovered it to have a black hole that absorbed things at inconvenient moments…with time the black hole has changed and become a safe place.

As in, “I can’t find _______ (insert whatever), Mumsie (me) must have put it in a safe place”.

Life’s interesting enough dealing with the shifting sands of the safe place, I don’t think I want to visualise an inner critic.

It might well conjure an older, grumpier iteration of James, and while I do love a Scottish accent, I’m over being criticised by men….

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Lucy Day's avatar

Love this, Charlotte--and I'm totally doing this exercise so I can name my IC and tell it to buzz off until it's needed. 🤣 I love your perspective and thoughtful tips--they always help me out! Thanks so much for all that you share. I always look forward to your letters!

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