Robot-Mode

 

I had to get up early Sunday morning and this daylight savings time thing made me have to get up even an hour earlier on top of that.  The result was that Sunday I wasn't my usual self.  There were a number of things that compounded the situation.  On Saturday evening, Purandara and I drove to Byron, Ga., which is about a three-and-a-half-hour drive.  I have to do all the driving because Purandara has occasional seizures and thus driving a plus-ton vehicle at neck-break speed down an asphalt-highway with many even heavier vehicles could be a dangerous situation. I usually like to drive all the time anyway and only generally relent when I'm really tired.

In the hotel, Purandara started shutting the lights off early.  I'm not big on early lights off but I understood as we had to get up at 5:30 a.m., which was really 4:30 because we had to set the clocks ahead.  Anyway, I was happy because it meant I was going to be alone in terms of waken people and when I'm alone I am much better-able to write anyway.  So, after about five minutes, as I lay on my stomach with my Mac-book, Purandara says, "How long are you going to have that thing on?"  "I don't know Purnadara, but I'm not going to lay here in the darkness for the next three hours twiddling my thumbs."  I was a little annoyed because he had asked to come with me and I was perfectly content on going alone.  I felt bad for him because otherwise he had no way to go.

After about another five minutes, I started thinking about how hard it is for me to sleep with any lights on in the room myself, even the glow of a laptop, so, feeling sorry for Purandara's plight, I grabbed all my stuff and moved into the bathroom for the next few hours.  It took a few minutes to adjust, but in almost no time the large countertop around the sink became my desk and the toilet bowl became my chair.  Just before I went in, I told Purandara I was going to take a shower and write in there a while.  "Oh, I was thinking about using the bathroom to take a shower also," he said, from under the covers.  I said nothing and disappeared behind the door.  After a few minutes, I heard him snoring through the walls.

Unless I write at least a poem and a blog a day, I do not feel complete, like I am neglecting my duties or something.  Several people came up to me during the Sunday feast last night and encouraged me about my writing.  One devotee said she thinks it's my dharma.  It was nice to hear.  So, anyway, being in that bathroom felt like an oasis because I was able to write in peace 

Waking up early in the morning after getting little sleep and traveling the night before, is tough on the body and the mind.  When that alarm first goes off, you have to go into robot-mode just to get through.  "Who wants to take a shower first?" Purandara asked.  "I will," I said and immediately put my feet on the floor.  Those first minutes of getting your stuff together when hours of austerity await you is not fun.  You have to remember about the temporality of it all and focus on your purpose.  If the purpose is important enough, then it becomes easier for your mind to accept and it finally stops whining.  If the mind stops whining, the body starts adjusting almost immediately. Not that the body is overjoyed or anything but it's pretty much just a machine.  Like I said before, in those situations, robot-mode always works best for me.  We still had another hour-and-a-half to drive on the pre-dawn highway before we could get to our destination.

In the hotel lobby, the girl at the desk looked like she didn't want to be there either.  "Everyone is going through austerities," I thought.  "What makes me so special?"  How about all those people who choose to get up early and go see a race?  "They're friggin' nuts," I thought.  But for them, this is one of the best times of the year, or so they hope.  As I drove in the parking lot and made my way out of the car, a tall, fat guy with a Dale Earnhardt Jr. hat, who was hanging out at his car, looked at me and asked "Where's breakfast?"  "Sorry, I already had oatmeal,"  "Oatmeal!?!" he said with a contorted look on his face.  "I'm asking where's the bacon?"  "Apparently, a lot of it has already lodged inside of you," I thought.

I had forgotten my belt at home and bought one at Walmart the night before.  I really need a belt out there, otherwise all the weight of the stickers pull my pants down.  There's no more loser-like feeling than having to regularly pull your pants up out in public.  I had bought a cheap man-made-material belt for $9.99 and as I tried to buckle it, it promptly broke in half.  "Great," I said aloud.  The bacon-eating-man looked at me and started laughing.  "That's why I wear these," he said, pulling on his suspenders.  I then proceeded to take an old plastic rain poncho and tear it into a make-shift belt.  It worked fine, holding my pants up, and no one could see it anyway because my jacket was hanging over it.

I worked for about three hours, and had another three hours to go when a offical-looking man in a golf-cart called me over to him.  He checked me out to make sure I had no Nascar paraphernalia, which I never do.  I acted at ease with him and he joked with me.  I thought all was well but when another official talked to Purandara, the P-dawg was less than cooperative.  "Let me see in your pockets," the less-than-overjoyed man repeatedly said.  Purandara kept ignoring his request.  "I told you this is all I have," Purandara said, defiantly referring to the stickers he already had in his hands.   "I want you guys off the property," the agitated official said.  "If we see you again, we'll take all your stuff."  "Great," I thought, a little annoyed, knowing Purandara may have well pushed the man over the edge and got us kicked out of there.  I had been in a rhythm, too.

As we walked back to the car, Purnadara was disturbed that I wasn't going to work anymore.  "You're the one who kept asking if you could bring Nascar hats" I said.  "If you had, they would have cleaned my car out.  I told you if you go with me you have to follow my rules." I said annoyed.  The P-dawg grumbled but could do nothing.  He just couldn't accept that it was time to go.  "Why don't we just look around?" he said.  "For what?" I asked.  There were cars parked up and down the road, which was "off the property," but there were almost no tail-gaiters. He was frustrated because he wanted to continue working but I didn't want to run into those guys again.  I was annoyed because I thought if I had come by myself, I would have kept things cool with the officials and been allowed to work another three hours.  Around noon, we stopped at Moe's for burritos and Purnadara's hunger took over his confounded mood.  He ordered so much filling, that by the time his burrito was wrapped, it looked like a big used diaper.

I fought off sleep on the ride home by listening to George Carlin and Chris Rock.  Puranadara kept hinting that he wanted to put his Ipod on but I largely ignored him.  "I have an Ipod," he said.  "I know, you showed me yesterday." I said.  "He took it out again and started playing with it. He kept looking at me, like he wanted to say something but kept hesitating.  "Want to hear some of my songs?" he finally said.  "I'm not big on hip-hop and R& B." I answered.  "Anyway, I have to drive and I'm really trying to just stay awake here."  After we stopped for gas, he hooked up his Ipod, or thought he did.  Really he just hooked up my charger to his Ipod.  When he turned the stereo on he was baffled because one of my songs were coming out of the speakers.  He looked down at his Ipod and squinted.  "You didn't plug it in properly."  I said.  "All right, you can listen to one of your songs." "Just one?" he asked.  "That's it," I said firmly.  He put on a Bob Marley song with UB40.  When it was over "Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones came on and I told him he could play it because I liked the song.  He smiled.  

I did a couple of makeshift tarot readings for him as we drove home.  

After I dropped him off at his house and said our good byes, I called Radha.  She told me she was going to the temple with Govinda.  I asked if they would wait for me to get home.  I was so tired by the time I got there that I had her drive us.  I laid on my back in the passenger seat with my car-bumper stained shorts still on and my japa beads in hand.  Radha drove mostly quiet and serious, while Govinda humored my almost incoherent stories and ramblings from his seat in the back.  I was glad to be home, back in my stomping grounds and on the way to the Sunday Feast.