Morbid Sunday

Its early Sunday morning. The weather forecast said sunrise at 07h23. Its closer to 08h00 and its dark, cold, misty and miserable. Normal for winter. But just different. There is absolutely no wind. A surrealistic picture of gloom and doom. No movement all. It feels as though Mother Nature has pressed a “pause” button. For some or other reason I am intensely aware of my surroundings, and I “see” mundane things that I pass everyday without notice.
It’s as though the filter between the part of my brain that generates thoughts and that part of the brain that processes them logically and rationally has been removed. The negative thoughts flood through my mind like water like escaping from a broken dam wall.
This trip is a daily routine. I have done it a thousand times. Most often I can’t even remember anything along the way. It’s a short trip, maybe 10 minutes the long way around.
I pass around the traffic circle on the main through road I see the black skid marks into the culvert stones and the broken glass with plastic trivia that one finds after a wreck. Someone came seriously short during the early hours this morning. The lime scattered around on the tar means someone was seriously injured and the blood on the tarmac has been covered with carelessly scattered lime. Some spots were missed in the dark and the uncovered signs of blood are testimony to someone’s trauma. I wonder if he is still alive, how serious it is if he is, does his family know, is he local and WHY?
I decide to fill up with gas that I don’t really need, and pass my turnoff and head into town. It’s so eerie I think I just want to experience more. I pass the Auto shop, and the wreck is there, abandoned just inside the front gate, for all and sundry to see. The car rolled in the process and it is obvious that it is a youngster’s car. Small, cheap and fast. Immediately my mind goes to alcohol.
The first signs of life. A young man standing under a hitch-hiking prohibited sign. That’s normal. These signs are usually placed in those areas where thumbing a lift is best. What’s not normal is he is heavily bandaged around the head. I break the Golden Rule and stop. A farm worker trying to get back home. I offer to take him to the gas station, he gets into the car and smells like a backed up toilet. Wine, smoke, antiseptic and shit. All these senses nauseate me. He was in a fight the previous evening and had been stabbed in the leg and zapped on the head with, you guessed right, a wine bottle. This guy and been treated and discharged. If it had been me I would most probably still be in intensive care. He is still drunk, and feels no pain. After giving him 14 bucks for a taxi, which is bullshit, taxis don’t run out here at this time, he’s off, threatening revenge on his attackers and girlfriend, in language one only hears on the streets.
The attendant at the gas station has just started his shift, I know him well. He is happy and upbeat, chirping me as usual but I don’t rise to the occasion. He leaves me alone.
Now I am in a bad mood, but misery creates misery, and I continue.
If the World had to be given an enema, it would be stuck into this part of the Earth.
A Police vehicle approaches from the front, crawling along. I know him, and give him the finger. “ Fuck you too” hangs in the mist behind me as I pass him. I owe him a beer sometime.
The Security guy at the factory gate gives a curt “good morning” and we go through the formalities. I wonder why he is so defensive, and then I see my grumpy face in the rear view mirror. Shit, I wouldn’t even greet myself.
The season is at its end. The last container to be loaded for Rotterdam leaves next
morning, and I check what has to be checked and re-check. Everything is perfect, the way it should be, but I find myself looking for mistakes.
Then the factory cat arrives. A stray cat that “adopted” me a couple of years ago. She’s dragging a back leg. I have a quick look, and Madam has been in a fight again. Clean puncture wound in a back leg that she has licked clean. I zap the area with an aerosol antiseptic, and she disappears as fast as she can on three legs, but only after giving me a look that could strip paint off a wall.
On the way home the sun breaks through, everything changes. At home I’m met by happy faces and I hear its my turn to make Sunday lunch. My mood lifts and I grin.
I’m back again.