I feel so much better now. I wrote last night till my eyes crossed. I had promised myself to surf after I finish the book but figured if I rented a scooter that would be problematic. Turns out Jean-Philippe, the owner of Saline Garden, where I'm staying, was one of the first ever French pro surfers. He gave me a tour of the local waves and then dropped me off at the scotter store. He says he'll take me out surfing any time I want. Surfing in St. Barths. It's very much what I would like the heroic film version of me to be doing. Just like last year when I was snowboarding in St. Moritz. I think of myself still as a kid from Michigan with a lopsided Afro and a banana-seated bicycle. While scootering back to my little cottage I stuck my tongue out like a puppy, just to feel the wind on it.

Now to work.