Ghostie
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When I first picked up the hammer, the satisfaction it brought me was instant and unexpected. A noise that once grated my nerves now felt like music – nails driven into boards, the rhythm of repair and creation. Wooden beams, picture frames, loose floorboards; there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t attempt to fix. And therein, it seemed, was the problem: I couldn’t stop. The hammer became an extension of me, a sidekick in my everyday adventures. It and I were inseparable, for better or worse.
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