Image Credit: Ruth Livingstone
Quitting the Rat Race

Retiring to Live by the Sea and Write Books – My Fake Journal – Episode 8

Woke up at six twenty disoriented. I blinked a couple of times and rubbed my eyes before realising that I’d slept through the entire night. I thought long and hard about what day it was while I was dressing.

My first ‘note to self’ while I was washing my face was, ‘get a calendar, or one of those digital clocks which shows the date and day.’ A much larger pondering happened while I was brushing my teeth: ‘Why?’

I tap the kettle on whom I’ve lovingly named ‘Angry’ and prepare instant coffee in my carry-mug. Willow jumps on the counter and then front legs on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. That’s definitely a belly rub look and I oblige. Satisfied, she jumps down to her water fountain and sashays over to her hammock.

There’s a small chance of rain today and high tide at twelve twenty ish, so I open the tall cupboard and pull out my fluorescent pink waterproof jacket. ‘Nah,’ I put it back. It’s still not cold enough for me to warrant a second layer and it’s certainly not even a forty percent chance of rain. That means another thing to carry and I’m not about that.

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?’

I lock up the van and trot down the sea wall steps and go left. It must have been a really high tide last night because there’s a ton of driftwood this morning. I walk through sticks and seaweed and empty shark eggs. It’s not yet dry. I see tiny crab corpses and the odd shell. I pick up the odd bit of litter as I walk – most walkers do, and the dog walkers are also excellent with their ‘housekeeping’.

Coming across a huge chunk of tree, I examine whether its safe to sit on and decide no. There are too many crevices for mischief. So I walk until I get to the fluffy sand and find a small dune. I pull out my yoga mat and fold it once and sit. I made a makeshift coffee holder in the sand and, finally, opened my chrome book. As I slip off my trainers and shimmy my heels into the sand I conclude I’ve definitely walked further today, in less time. If I’m writing, I try and have a different vantage point in front of me, so I can stare out and reminisce for things to write. A fly lands on the sand where my right foot is buried, so I startle it with my big toe, giggle, and get to typing.

About this Series

‘My Fake Journal’ is a self-visualization. It is my future life happening right now. These entries will form part of a book called ‘Quitting the Rat Race’.

Read from Episode 1

About Samantha Dee

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