I like it when people have harmless rituals against their fears.
She walks past the piano, and plays a G for good.
She will salute a solitary magpie.
She will never begin a journey without St Christopher around her neck.
She will always leave through the same door she came in by.
We can’t carry our tattered, smelly toys or blankets with us. There may not be a hand to hold.
So these must do instead.
I don’t think they are a concession to fear, I think they are a flip of the middle finger to it.
I’ve got this.