Quitting the Rat Race
As a result of one of the courses she teaches, Sammy is selling her house, car and entire worldly possessions to move to the coast, live by the sea and write books. Here are a selection of writings on that subject, including 'My Fake Journal' in which she describes her future life as if its already happening right now.
As I dressed and brushed teeth, the thoughts and inspiration grew and swirled around the bathroom. By the time I exited to put the kettle on I'd already settled on a title. It felt like a scene from that movie, 'Limitless'.
The beach road is lit for most of the mile or so walk into the village, so I sit with my thoughts and the sheep for a bit, and contemplate my pre-sunrise toothpaste-trek.
The darkness is definitely lingering this morning. It's about five thirty now and its still pitch dark. Usually I start to be able to make out a shape of something out there but not this morning. I finish my tea and curl up under a furry blanket with the sound of the waves lulling me down.
I'm stirred by a dog slapping his wet muzzle on my neck obviously wondering whether I've expired, and I roll over laughing. It's already a great day.
'Lundy. Southwesterly gale force eight expected later. Wind. Southwesterly seven or gale eight at first in southeast, otherwise northwesterly four to six. Sea State. Rough, becoming moderate later. Rain then showers. Visibility. Poor becoming good.'
Willow is attempting to open the front curtains by herself, so I help her achieve that, pour some coffee into my flask, grab my waterproof and step out. As Billy Connolly once said, 'There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes.'