An American girl in Amsterdam - where the laws are loose, the men are gorgeous, and the food might literally make you cry. I'm documenting it all, from restaurant reviews to crazy trips to international online dating. Dose 1: Fake Fleeing. Dose 2: Two Trips, Two Lessons. Dose 3: Mansterdam. Dose 5: Near Canal Bridge Decapitation. Dose 6: Sativa and the Stratosphere. Dose 7: But of Course. Dose 8: The Room. Scroll down to read previous Doses.
Have you ever had one of those days where you do all your drugs just right? Well, the day I went to the Van Gogh Museum was one of those miracle days. One thing that surprised me about shrooming, was how much control I had over my own body and actions. But the opposite was true, I was more in control of what I was doing than when I was drunk and even incrementally more in control than when I was certain levels of high you know, like when you get catatonically stoned either on purpose or on accident from an unassuming edible.
The whole feat turned out to be a sensational experience, where each step gave me a feeling of assertion and power โ I can be both in my body on this earth and in my mind in another reality โ and before long I was locking the bathroom door. Sitting on the toilet, I looked at the wooden cabinet beneath the vanity in front of me, which was so close my knees nearly touched.
The wood was a deep chestnut color, with grains that rounded and dipped, making vague diamond shapes. Everything is made of teeny tiny particles that are, quite literally, always in motion.
What I remembered from high school science was a blur, but I knew enough to remember the cell, the atom, and โ inside the atom โ the protons and neutrons and the overarching fact that all things โ ALL THINGS โ are made of up these minuscule parts. Still peeing, I pressed the tips of my fingers against the wood, softly, patiently, my hand perpendicular to the cabinet door.
