Time does fly when one is flying around the country. Like the blue-bottomed variety and actually by using trains not planes and the odd automobile. If I never see routes 85 and 95 again, I'll be happy. For my scheduling abilities, I should be certified, because I decided it was crucial that I drive from DC to near Chapel Hill, North Carolina and back. In a day. The michelin site said it would take 4.30 hours each way. It took six. I can still see in my mind the sign that says “Washington 121 miles” and hear my heart thumping to the bottom of my Birkenstocks. Actually I've been thinking about car crashes a bit because I'm thinking I may write a book about them, and on that route 85/95 hell I thought about them a lot because I deserved to have one. Driving under extreme fatigue is as bad as driving under alcoholic influence, I think. I am not a believer in religion, but I gave thanks to something when I got back to my hotel room, because I didn't deserve, really, to be alive. And after the three hours straight of only country music and god-isms on the radio in North Carolina, I almost didn't want to be either.
I have a funny relationship with the States. When I'm there, I like it a lot. I like that there are many smart people in New York, and I know some of them. I like the heartiness and the mixtures, and the confidence up to a point. I loathe the bloatedness and the wilful ignorance, and these are the attributes that America exudes most forcefully to the outside world. So when I am in the outside world rather than just being from it, these are the things I notice, and I forget the smartness and the heartiness, and I don't like the place. I decided years ago to do a Masters in the US precisely because I didn't like it and thought I'd better see whether that was properly justified. It wasn't. But still, whenever I leave, America loses its charm, even when I have been feted and hosted by excellent Americans like Kevin the superintendent for Collections North of the Department of Environmental Protection, who tells sewer rat-tales that are hard to believe but are corroborated, or Doug, his boss, who played me a CD of the Sewer Song from the Honeymooners, an old US sitcom which had a sewer worker as a main character, and who gave me NYC sewer manhole cover badges which are my favourite freebie ever and that includes staying at the Banyan Tree luxury hotel in Bangkok. Americans are great. They just need to find a better PR company for their country.
I've been exhausted for ten days straight. It's time for a holiday. Except I have something to do first.