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When words fail you in lockdown, let parcels of love speak for you | Deirdre Fidge

I’m sick of texting, sick of reading and sick of asking my friends the same Covid questions – so I now communicate through absurd gifts in the post

I recently posted my friend, who lives in Sydney, a T-shirt emblazoned with an image of Garfield the cat with large breasts. Another, I sent a tin of Spam. This is my new Love Language – I won’t explain why this is funny, doing so will only humiliate us both.

At this stage of the pandemic, as many Melburnians endure a 200-and-something day of lockdown, I am finding myself so sick of words. Sick of condensing an existential spiral into a “fine thanks, you?” Sick of reading transcripts from press conferences that make me want to bop myself on the head with a large shovel. I am sick of emails hoping they “find me well”.

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Read the original article at The Guardian

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