Weblog entries posted on this day.
The night before I would attend the David Bowie concert with my dad, I didn't find any trouble catching sleep, which was surprising and good. When I got up around 1 P.M., though, I was feeling a bit sick and nervous. After a couple of hours, I decided to go play some basketball with Enrique at the court near my house, in order to relax. The weather was great, and I started to feel very relaxed (in mind) and energetic (in body).
Within an hour, my mom showed up. She said that my dad had read on the Internet that the ArenA would open at 5, and that the supporting programme would start at 6:30. Our original plan of leaving from The Hague at 6:30 was no longer a very good one (considering it'ss about an hour drive). The new plan was that he would come and pick me up as soon as possible, and head straight to Amsterdam—my mom figured she'd go tell me I should get ready.
Since I know it's about an hour drive for my dad just to get here, I wasn't really stressed about it and continued to play a little 'ball. After half an hour or so, I went home, took a shower, and lifted myself in a nice suit (needle stripe). I looked like a million bucks, but felt like pretty much shit. Not much later, my dad arrived. He chatted with my grandmother for a minute or so and we went on our way.
In the car, I—obviously—started feeling less good, but it remained manageable. On the highway, it got worse and worse (as usual), up to and beyond the point where I would normally start to panic and back out, but I would not give in on it. I was going to do this, or die trying—I really did not give a shit what could happen (which is nothing, so it's irrelevant anyway). My father and I chatted a little, and I actually kept a pretty positive mindset. My body felt weak; I could not feel my limbs, everything was tingling and cramped, but I did not panic—I rufused to.
The fact that I appeared to be strong enough to pull through, and able to stay in control obviously helped (that's how the mind works), and made the bad feelings weaken. When we arrived at the ArenA, I was actually feeling pretty good. The only anxiety I was experiencing was a healthy dosis of excitement—after all; I was going to see Bowie, live!
This day, elsewhere.