Diary entry, 15th February 2011
Today I listened but became almost deaf.
I understood the words, the context and the speaker, yet I couldn’t identify the accumulation of knowledge in which I aspired to interpret.
Today I became a little confused, however, I shall not confess unto you the matters of my psychology.
I repeat, there is nothing wrong with me.
Diary entry, 16th February
Definitely more than semi aware of my fate today.
My hormones are producing anti socialism, I can’t and won’t aim to exchange blows with my body.
My body knows best.
Though, the now is improving, as today is unlike any other day.
For, today I am mystic Michelle.
Today I can see into tomorrow, tomorrow has prospects, not only prospects, but post-it-notes and a schedule.
Diary entry, 17th February
I thrust into today with no sleep just a series of restricted naps.
On schedule.
Bus to Victoria 45minutes
Train to Gatwick 30 minutes
Airplane to Amsterdam 50 minutes
Insufficient energy to complete the day, yet I collapse effortlessly into the laid back temperament of the Netherlands.
Diary entry, 18th February
Fuelled with a macro dose of caffeine, my vocational bearings and the local tourist map, I begin my expedite to unearth my version of the Netherlands.
(I use the broader term Netherlands, as I hope to appear authentically cultured and archival, opposed to the rapturous stag night imagery conjured by pin pointing the exact, Amsterdam.)
With my head high, I survey the skylines whilst reveling in the architecture, people watch in the local croissant ce les’magnifique and with this midday delight I celebrate my 5day fiesta.
Diary entry, 19th February
The forecast for today is dull, yet my outlook is seemingly better.
This potent coffee is half drunk, but nonetheless seems half full.
That is a smile.
The body knows best.
Dad called, he may come to visit; yet the ratio of time spent with him per year is less than 14 in 265 days and a quarter.
Austria to Amsterdam, 10 hours X2, that forecast is deemed less than promising.
Time is a great leveler, and now I am emotionally departing from this less than idealistic family situation.
Diary entry, 20th February
Rembrandt had a gift, he also had assistants like all of the other divas in which we know.
Prep my canvas, mix my paint…
I now know he had a slight cocktail obsession, which led to debt, another diva similarity, though, in those days I’m unsure of the rehab state.
I question if all of humanity lives merely dormant until introduced to the intoxicating thrills of alcohol and other substances?
Do we rest with pessimistic anticipation of this rich awakening?
I leave tomorrow; I now believe I need a drink.
.
Diary entry, 21st February
A kaleidoscope of lives, trams, travelers, taxis and tourists all jostling for street space.
By night I am serenaded by bustling horny busy bodies, In which one, without delay directs them towards Amsterdam’s finest, the district in which humanity is stripped, and sober optimism telescopes into nothingness.
The same venue in which I have not come to view, but in where vanity breeds and where lust and gluttony are listed as the bare daily essentials.
Consuming the ‘tour de force’ of culture which is upon me, and I hastily realize, real guerilla work is not fast nor reported, and that this last minute venture has succeeded to uproot my London being, and in it’s place this Netherlands city has seeped into my blood.
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