Widukinds Diary Entry #29: the Adventures of Widukind Part 2

Mac Mall makes it to the first page on Google Images for a "shrooms" search!

After my saccharine escapade (remember this for later), the rest of Sunday night was spent relaxing in Hampsterdam before heading out to my friend's friend's place out in Leiden for the night. A third night of sleeping on the floor while sharing a room with 4+ other dudes was a serious blunder, as well as a strong no homo. Widustradamus' bold prediction: the next time you have to decide whether to use your sweatshirt as a pillow, blanket, or mattress, you are not going to sleep well.
The rising sun was celebrated by taking some doja al duomo and heading out in to sleepy Leiden to procure some funny fungi, a venture that proved quite successful. On the train ride in to the city, we began our consumption, and our hearts giggled with glee, though our stomachs grumbled grumpily and our mouths groaned, "gross!" (Chicks dig alliteration.)
My buddies had to check in to their hostel, which predictably was a disastrous yet hilarious affair. Their booking of course had gotten screwed up, so while they toiled to formulate cohesive sentences with the ladies at the desk I went and sat down on a couch to relax. Finally they had everything sorted out and went up to their room. After about 15 minutes of waiting for them I got worried, so I approached the desk and attempted a reconnaissance mission. It was pretty clear the conversation wasn't quite going to be held up on my end when I opened with the question, "Where did my friends go?"...as if they had any idea who I was or where I came from. They politely asked who I was talking about, but by then I had already decided to cut my losses so I told them "I'm just going to go back over here".

Unfortunately, I had a train ride to Dusseldorf to catch, so I had to depart prematurely. Widustradamus' bold prediction #2: the next time you chose to do shrooms and sit on a train for 2 1/2 hours, you will not have a fun time. All of my previous experiences with magical mushrooms have been absolutely stellar, each in its own way special, eye-opening, and simply awesome. This sojourn, dear readers, was no walk in the park. Not only was it not easy, it didn't consist of one, while all of my other shroom trips have (a walk in the park, I mean). Instead, it consisted of me sitting on my train paranoid out of my mind about: A) falling asleep and having my bag stolen, B) missing my stop in Dusseldorf, C) how the hell I was going to find my hostel, D) the angry Tiki-Dolls and bearded skull-pirates I was seeing in my jeans, and E) my reflection in the window that kept morphing in to a demented skeleton.

I dunno...could be a good look for me

I didn't freak out or anything, but I certainly was not very comfortable. Shrooms are a remarkable drug; the psychology behind them is truly astounding. Each time I had delved in to their world before, I had left, in my humble opinion, a greater person. There wasn't something I could point my finger to and put on display as a "Here, This is How I am Better" exhibit; it was just something I knew to be true. However, this experience, governed by a predetermined location and activity which I had no ability to change, was completely different. I had to be on that train, I had to be sitting in that seat, I had to watch my bag, and I had to get off at a certain time. It wasn't even as if I wanted to do certain things, yet was unable because I was on a train; I was completely devoid of any options whatsoever, so my mind floundered and simply hit a rut. While my first experience on shrooms led me to fill up an entire 50 something pages with random thoughts and doodles, this time was the complete opposite. I couldn't come up with anything that inspired me or even interested me. Because I wasn't having much fun, I harkened back to that first time and I tried drawing in my notebook to calm down. I had no idea what I was going to produce even as I sketched the first lines; I ended up drawing a rain cloud. It scared me, so I stopped.
Though certainly no expert, I have done shrooms enough to have developed an addage I pass on to any others who are doing them for the first time: "Don't have anything planned. You'll just do what you want to do, and that will be enough." Foolishly, I went against my own advice and found myself trapped. The result was less than desired. I had wisely eaten a smaller dose, resulting in an overall weaker-trip, so I didn't truly freak out and bite off my neighboors earlobe. But I didn't have much fun either. Lesson learned.
Arriving in Dusseldorf after three nights of awful sleep and coming down from my shrooms trip, my brain felt like a banana does when for some reason you thought it would be a good idea to keep it in your backpack all day like an idiot. I spent about 45 minutes wandering around in a mindless stupor, got the exact same three directions from people, consequently forgot them, and then finally find my hostel. I was extraordinarily ecstatic to find out that I had to wake up at 3:00 AM to catch a train out to Dusseldorf-Weeze, Ryanair's middle-of-nowhere-fucking-piece-of-shit airport.

She wasn't there.

After waking up after my fourth consecutive night of non-sleep, I wanted to kick a fucking panda in the fucking face, take a massive diarrhea in to the cavity where its cute little fucking dopey eyes used to be, and then send it to PETA with a note, "GARGUAGHGHGHGHG!!!!". But I didn't.
Humble readers, I hope you remember what I told you to remember at the beginning of the post. You see, at 3:00 AM on Tuesday morning, my stomach decided to kindly remind me that I hadn't taken a shit since at least Saturday night. This wouldn't have been all bad if I hadn't spent all of Sunday high. But, the bowl of Wok to Walk, a huge plate of chips and guacamole, and a gigantic bag of candy of epic proportions (not to mention a whole bunch of shrooms) was still sitting, nay, brewing, excellently in my stomach. A perfect storm erupted within my bowels at around 3:13, punishing my innards with immense ferocity, causing them to roil and quiver at its excruciating pangs. On the walk from my hostel to the bus station I had to stop twice altogether and grasp my sides, bending over in agony, seething through my teeth and brimming with fury at my pathetic anguish. At one point I actually looked around and wondered if anyone was still out at this ungodly hour who would catch me taking a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. But, nay, dear readers, I soldiered on! I made it to the bus in time, only to have the most godawful bus ride in the history of things that are godawful...45 minutes of my groin feeling like a concubine in Genghis Khan's tent: fucked, and hella pregnant.
Finally, in the most triumphant of triumphs, I made it to the airport and ran to the WC.

Fuck you, Dusseldorf-Weeze

That is all for now. Until another time...