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The art of re-reading books

I have never been one to re-read a book after I’ve read it once. The only exception to the rule is Harry Potter and even then I’ve not re-read it that much and sometimes not entirely in full. (A travesty, I know!) As a young’n, I think my attention span was at fault for this. I didn’t see the satisfaction in living in the same book again, carving out a hole in its pages and being comforted by familiar words. The difference between now and then is I definitely do. In fact, I crave it. Surprisingly from other books and not just Harry Potter, though, like for many, that series will always be a safe place in my times of great need above all else.

These days I whizz through books so fast and, as much as I love inhaling books and being efficient in my reading, it’s that bittersweet feeling of never wanting a book to end, but also already anticipating your next. The only way to truly savour any of these much-loved reads is to go back and make the conscious decision to give the words extra time to seep into your skin. So that’s what I’m planning to do more of. Re-read books I loved — and not just Harry Potter.

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Dear London (an unlove letter)

Unfortunately this is a falling out of love letter and not the opposite of its kind. Do people ever actually write those? I suppose, in a mad dash to leave, on a notepad meant for shopping lists, or smudged on a napkin with the skid-marks to show the at breaking neck speed at which they raced out of your life. More obviously through text messages, in as little words as: ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ ‘There’s somebody else.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’

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My body image journey & the gym

Something I’ve been banging on about a lot over on my Twitter (and a lil bit of Insta stories, because that’s getting a tad addictive now) is the fact I’ve joined my local gym. Trust me when I say I hate it as much as the next person when I see people sharing their long AF runs, which they ran in minutes rather than the hours it would likely take me. But, for me at least, that came from festering jealousy, because I’m not that motivated and I’ll never have their body; and I am such a lazy slob of a person; they’re doing so much better at life than me. Not to mention the fact a love for sport wasn’t particularly prevalent or nurtured into me — although in hindsight I am questioning how the hell I was ever a part of the netball club when I was in primary school?

I am not a sporty, fit person and the important thing to note above all is that any time I did try to shape myself into some active-being and do workout DVDs — courtesy of Davina McCall, or that annoying American woman — was when I was feeling particularly low about my body and motivated (for a millisecond) to somehow miraculously blast all my body insecurities off in one unrealistic surge of exercise.

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The month of August

I’ve been pretty bad at blogging this month and I think maybe that has to do with the fact I let go of this huge weight of pent up feelings and everything in me was saying to run for the hills and hide away. I burned myself out with those words. Just for a little bit. And although I think the path will continue to be a long one, there may be a small part of me that is finally properly healing. So August has been about that in part, and in looking after and doing the most for me, myself and I. I would urge any of you reading this to do the same. We deserve it.

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