Today I only wrote 500 words. Could I be slipping? It is possible. But hopefully today I will recover, and then some. The only reason I am here is to write this book. If I fail to write this book, then these two months will have been a failure. This is what I must remind myself.
I woke up hung over today, and so mostly laid around through the afternoon. The most substantial thing I did was buy a plane ticket to London, to see the girl who told me it would be impossible to see me. But then there are very few things that are impossible.
In the evening I went out with the girl who I'd met yesterday, the one from LA who travels on her parents' money. I found that I enjoyed her company very much, and I am glad for it. There are few better uses of one time than to weaken one's prejudices. On the other hand, she said the main reason she enjoys traveling is because she can very easily have sex with random men, so I won't go so far as to say that I admire her character.
Later I met another American who is traveling for three weeks. He is from Florida and works for Lockheed Martin. I believe he is the most American American to have ever Americaned. He fist pumped and hollered and flirted with women who wanted nothing to do with him. One of my hostelmates, a Frenchman, said that this American is what Europeans imagine all Americans are like, more or less. I thought about it, and decided that he wasn't very far off.
It has occurred to me that I am a very surprising species to people who have a certain conception of what Americans are like, and that perhaps I am not doing a bad job of representing my country, or at least this is how I delude myself.
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