Sunday.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon. Not average in any possible way, it was a most remarkable afternoon. I did not know that yet. I was still under the assumption that this was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Sunny and lazy just as it should be.
At noon time I decided it was time to commence the shit dump brush bathe process of mundaness. I executed this thought after one hour of deliberation or as you would like to call it sheer vegetative laziness. I awoke and reached for the half smoked cigarette lying on the bedside table. I placed it between my lips only to realise I had nothing to cause a nicotine fire with. I searched around for a matchbox or lighter or anything that was warm enough to get the tobacco revealing end of my cigarette to turn orange and emit smoke. My brain indicated that it was time for motor activity in search for a light that will light my fire. Come on.
I made it to the bathroom, found a matchbox on the sink. I sat atop the container that would make my shit vanish into thin water. Lit my half smoked cigarette. Coughed a few times at my Jewish ancestry that wasn’t Jewish at all. I pondered over the day ahead of me. A few moments later my body started the process of excretion. Next Please.
As I washed by freakishly large palms I stole a glimpse of my face in the mirror. Today was definitely not a day of beauty. I looked absolutely unremarkable. And not in a the quiet girl in school who topped class kind of way but more in a mother in her early fifties forgotten by her only son never to return as the prodigal son kind of way. Inner beauty Darling. My system is beautiful, the benefits of number two. Good number two is number one. Deep shit.
I walked down the 40 odd stairs that led me down to level one. At level one I was attacked by the weather. It was as hot as the eggs at a restaurant with good, neigh, great service. I had a split second reflex to revert back to my earlier state of being. The split second passed by in a split second and I proceeded to seize the day. Carpe Diem.
My walking had no motive. I walked, just walked. There was no definite decision as to what could be done on this Sunday of Sundays. I say how about we shop. I say you are a synonym for penniless. I say we watch a movie. Why watch big screen when you can watch small screen for free, thanks to the download revolution and your lack of conscience. I say we go sit by the sea.
We’ll slowly
solve everything:
we’ll force you, sea,
we’ll force you, earth
perform miracles,
because in our very selves,
in the struggle,
is fish, is bread,
is the miracle.
I rattled my way to the sea in a cab that came close to breaking down in the middle of the road a total of 15 times in a short 10 minute journey. If you are secretly questioning my confidence at stating an exact number that depicts the exact number of times an almost breakdown occurred, then I say you are a fool. The cab strangely reminded me of myself. It chugs down the road, swerving from left to right and right to left, almost hitting, almost missing, hitting, missing. For causes unknown it tends to almost come to a standstill possibly due to some malfunctioning of a part whose exact specification is yet to see the light of the dawn. And then out of nowhere it taps into some energy source and continues rattling through the streets of chaos. It finally makes it to the destination it was directed in. It drops off the baggage and then resumes its journey to find more luggage. The cab was a representation of my life and I pay very close attention to anything that comes close to imitating the pattern of my life.
Pay very close attention.
I finally stand before a large expanse of saline water. I can feel it move ever so gently, just the way my grandmothers hands did. Just swaying as if it were at a Miles Davis performance enjoying the music ever so much.
I am at peace at last. Not one with the Sea but one with myself. In some mysterious absolutely remarkable way the Sea knows me, inside, outside. I have a connection with it that has no labels much like the relationship between at step father and his step son.
A remarkable Sunday. It was indeed.
In my ears of wisdom I had never heard such a blatant lie. But I played along anyway.