With every second between Stroud and me lengthens. I am sad to leave, which is a little surprising considering I was only there a month. But as one door closes another opens. The same feeling I had stepping off the plane at Heathrow urges me on into the unknown. I am not sure what the feeling is. Cindy would label it confidence. Last night at dinner she complimented me on my "confidence" and doing something she wouldn't have been able to do at her age. I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel pretty good to hear. But whatever it is it excited me for Lyme Regis, and the beach, and the cottage, and the ancient coastline. When my iPod quiets during the transition between songs, it bullies me into squeezing the most out of these next two weeks. I have just climbed out of my slump, a periodic disturbance in my activity, and this feeling is the constant adrenaline which wants nothing more than to sniff out the unknowns which hide just off the beaten path.
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