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.
Always loved chamomile, probably on account of the fact that I used to eat daisies as a kid. Pick the petals off and eat the yellow bit. I still would today, if I found the right daisy.
While I'm pouring my coffee and screwing the lid on I then wonder whether my Chromebook is shower-proof. 'I'd expect so, most laptop keyboards are mounted on a kind of membrane aren't they?' my recently retired tech brain started whirring. 'You're not going to type a thousand words in the rain, are you?'
Once the riders confirm it's safe to 'go', the one in the front loosens her rein a bit and faces forward. It's first stride is full stretch from the back legs, the rider leans forward and in a single pace is at full gallop. The gallop is the only pace where a horse lifts all four feet off the floor and reach speeds of up to thirty miles per hour. To explain it plainly, its like standing on the roof of a car at that speed.
My mind wanders briefly to the moment I'm going to have to get the sand out of my trainers when I get back, but if that's the only problem I have today, that'll do.
On the bottom step I feel the need to stretch out a bit before I start my walk so I do that, waving at the beach wardens truck going by. There are six or seven gulls sitting on the sea wall rocks who just look at me, like a scene out of a Hitchcock movie. I start walking, the gulls scatter.
I make my coffee and slink out onto the deck with it. Its still dark, so I step back in to grab a lighter and light my storm lanterns. I love this time of the morning, between three and six; there's an energy to it that is difficult to explain.