Heavy Logix.

Lateral Thoughts on Life.

Sleepless on Sunday.

While most people , myself included, use the week-end as a time to recharge and recreate themselves, I spent this one under an undue amount of stress and almost totally sleepless.

To begin with I had to see off my Mom who had been visiting all week and that meant rushing to the airport earlier than I’d normally wake up and then politely listening to various speeches about my procrastination and what I should do when I get money again. These speeches are great advice but I find I’m not really receptive to them right now because I feel stressed out and tired.

Being constantly told that you’re lazy and broke is not a great way to end either condition I surmised silently.

My wife suggested that I take my daughter along for the drive. I declined that lovely suggestion by reminding her that the car wasn’t working, all that well, and that our daughter can be more than a handful, even under the best of times, much less at an airport where you can’t even see the planes flying off anymore.

So it was just me and my mom in my car as we pulled up to the departure section of the airport. After I pulled her lone suitcase out of the trunk my mom quickly waved me off with a smile and a hug. I hugged her tighter than usual. One thing stress does is make you appreciate true and genuine friends and real family. I was missing her already, she was a tower of strength, always and I need that. They say men aren’t suppose to cry so I just got back in my car and didn’t look back, heading for home and some much needed sleep.

As I was driving back home, on the long Palisadoes strip, famous for being a speeding zone and offering great views of the sea on either side, my car started making a loud rattling noise. It’s hard to describe the sound, it felt and sounded like a metal strip was rubbing along the ground on the left side or something.My deeply mechanical mind immediately detected it’s the sound that a car makes when “something is wrong with the Engine”. I came out of the car hoping to see something stuck under the car was causing the noise but saw
nothing unusual. There’s a little flap hanging down a bit at the front end of the car but not low enough to be the source of the scraping, rattling noise.

Some NSWMA workers were sitting down nearby and observing me, amused. They talked, about the work, they might do later, if the sun cooled down and were fixing their various machines.The machines with rotating blades they used to thanklessly keep the prickly plants in that area in check.

One of them, a guy named Dwayne Kane asked if I was okay and I explained what I was doing looking under the car. “Something is wrong with the Engine”, I stated pontifically. I begged him for a phone call and he kindly lent me his cell. Mine had zero credit on it. I’m broke, remember ? I called my aunt, no doubt shortening her Sunday Sleep also and waited for help to come.

“Slavery done long time, Sunday is for cooking family dinner”, said one lady worker as she and her colleagues fumed in the heat packing bio-degradeable bags full of garbage, cuttings and other junk. I noticed she was dressed like she was going to a party while the others were in a NSWMA t-shirts and other makeshift protective garb. All of them agreed it was not a great day for work but they were all hesitant to ask their supervisor for a break. Eventually one lady was brave enough or hot enough to make the journey to the other side of the Palisadoes Road to ask a lady in a car about the possibility of leaving work early. The supervisor who sat in her air conditioned car signaled with a few deft waves of her hand that no such permission would be granted.

The female workers continued to bend over and pack bags and I continued to wait to be rescued occasionally peeking over at them as they peeked over at me.

Eventually after what seemed like hours probably because it was, my aunt arrived with her son-in-law, Ramesh, who assured me everything would be okay and said that the Wrecker was on it’s way. He slips me some funds with which to pay the man. Everyone knows I’m broke.

“Fix it and then Sell it “, was his shrewd advice and we sat in his luxurious car waiting for the wrecker to reach. I immediately noticed his dashboard had a jewel encrusted idol. A small figurine of the Hindu God Ganesha. Not that unusual, since Ramesh is born in India, but I had a previous encounter with this particular character, Ganesha. He scares me but I respect his power, this elephant-headed deity, known as, Ganesha. To his devotees he is said to be a “remover of obstacles”. I chose to take it as a good omen and relaxed a bit as we waited.

Ramesh shared several stories of his daily experiences in Jamaica with us. His son was in the car also and he turned to him and used me as an object lesson. “You see son, life is very hard.”

The wrecker came along soon enough and I was impressed with how quickly the man had my car hoisted up and ready to go.

Wrecker and my car.

Wrecker and my car.

Ramesh sped off with my aunt and his son, heroes fading into the sunset.

I climbed into the wrecker and directed the driver to my home many, many miles away.

On the journey the wrecker driver tells me of some of his previous jobs that day and I actually feel a bit lucky that I wasn’t wrapped around a tree or anything like that. We reach fairly quickly and he easily squeezes into the small driveway.

As we offload the car my young daughter starts screaming from inside the house asking why I took a bus home and my wife screams back at her telling her it’s not a bus its a wrecker.

My stress is over I am really home again. I pay the driver and then I close the gate only to hear a long time neighbor shouting from across the street. I soon realize he’s shouting at me and offering to help me whenever I’m ready to “shoot my car”. I muster a weak smile and say I’m ready now but really I’m too tired and hungry to do anything.

More broke and even more lazy than before, I limp back, tired, into my hermit’s cave, my house, my home, hoping simply for for some good old Sunday Sleep.

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February 9, 2009 - Posted by | blog, non fiction, Photography, writing

8 Comments »

  1. A man like you should start selling stories while creating the life you wish and dream about and stop the day in, day out working for a living. We often get stuck for you are really not being who we really are and instead trying to do what we can to please those around us pretending that we too are also pleased.

    Your story is most humorous a suggest that you can have a good chance at creative writing of satire, short-stories and material for plays or at least concepts for them and so much more. Please be encouraged. While I know just reading one your articles doesn’t make me your counsel – it could make me you guru. When you get to tending to the real you (listening to the still small voice within) the rest of your life shall unfold like you would never thought or imagined possible. Yes, the stuff dreams are made of – your dreams.

    You have got so much spirit and heavy content at the soul level (hence you desire to express) that you’ll be advised to start a meditative practice right away. It will serve to release the hidden strength, substance and flow you know is there, locked deep within. That which you sometimes get a mere glimpse of (and you get them more often than you notice) can become center stage for you. Go within and you’ll never again go without!

    I think you get my meaning – you know what I am alluding to. Your true path awaits so get on with activities that presents the illumination required for your particular enlightenment and awareness to surface. Look up “deep breathing” or “breath work” its a great place to begin.

    Comment by ccc3000 | February 10, 2009 | Reply

  2. I have had similar experiences. My cars usually let me down in more dangerous places though, eg. Rockfort, Mountain View Avenue, and Grants Pen, all after 10 @ nite. The Grants Pen one was @ about 2 or 3am!

    Comment by Mad Bull | February 14, 2009 | Reply

  3. very addictive reading, Mark. and very vivid as I could picture the whole thing.

    Comment by Marley Kingston | February 14, 2009 | Reply

  4. You’re right Mad Bull, I think I’d have been a lot more worried if I’d been left stranded in Mountain View area.
    I know some great people from that area but it seems the bad always get more publicity so I am scared of the place now.

    Comment by heavylogix | February 16, 2009 | Reply

  5. Mark,

    this was a great read…

    Comment by Annie Paul | February 23, 2009 | Reply

  6. Thanx Annie ! Keep on Reading, things can only go up from here, better mus’ come, I hope.

    Comment by heavylogix | February 23, 2009 | Reply

  7. Yes, Better will be here before you know it. Keep writing.

    Comment by Alison Walker-Grant | February 28, 2009 | Reply

  8. […] It was an adventure along which I bared my soul, and risked embarrassment, at times, with intensely personal, and unfortunate memoirs, like “This is not a Suicide note” and “Sleepless on Sunday”. […]

    Pingback by Blogging. My first year. « Heavy Logix. | January 9, 2010 | Reply


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