Sunday Morning - two ay em.

The time is now 2am. I haven’t seen my house since 7:30am.

The thing about foreign-based family members making the obligatory trip home is that more often than not, they forget that we actually have things to do besides lime. I mean hey, I’m glad to see you too - I may not know you, but I’m glad – however let’s face it: we can’t squeeze four years of weddings, funerals, christenings, births, divorces and other bacchanal into a couple hours.

One of my mother’s brothers is in the country for two more days. He seems to be a relatively pleasant person, but I won’t put my head on a block for that. At least I can now say that I’m on speaking terms with one of the Trinimerican family. The others can still suck salt and die for all I care. No I don’t mean it literally…

Anyway so this relatively newfound uncle landed up. I had met him previously but it would seem at that time neither of us made much an impression on the other. All I know is that mumsy told me we had a family get together to attend since H_ was in the country. I was actually in the cinema taking in 30 Days of Night. I wasn’t impressed. Both with the movie and the idea of family. However since I have no argument with this side and honestly I had no plans for the evening I gave it a shot. Besides, mum had already decided that if she were to suffer so would I.

We got there at seven. My uncle J_ was greeted us because, well, it’s his house. E_ and M_ soon followed, so it was just a matter of the guest of honour to show up. This was about 8pm. Two hours, a number of phone calls, some frayed nerves and numerous jokes about Trini Time later uncle H_ finally graced us with his presence.

I reiterate:- he seems to be a very nice man. We talked, laughed and had a fun old time albeit short lived. M_ eternal joker that he is, ribbed H_ throughout about his sense of time and although some of the barbs did seem a bit vicious, I’ll blame fatigue.

In all I wasn’t upset that mum saw it fit to drag me along. Granted, I wasn’t pleased either – my sleep is important to me, more so since I think my insomnia’s returning- but as the lime ended with the usual lies about keeping in touch and the ritual of phone number taking, I had to marvel: so this is what normal families do. I still don’t see the big deal and I’d be perfectly satisfied if I don’t see them for another couple years.

Working It.

Few things inspire me like exercise videos. There’s nothing like watching a group of hyperactive super-fit women to make me feel like the lazy slob I am.

I suppose I should try at least some of the exercises shown, but where’s the fun in that? Sure they’re smiling, but I also see all that sweat and straining... There must be some other way to keep fit that doesn’t involve hopping, jumping and Billy Blanks, and until it is found I shall remain on my ass watching the grimacing, perspiring people on TV tell me how fantastic they feel.

As you have probably realised, I’m watching Billy Blanks burn fat with his ‘specially developed for maximum fitness results’ Tae Bo program. At least that’s what the DVD cover says. I’ll take their word for it. I’m too busy enjoying a pint of Chunky Monkey . Hey, I have no problem with my fat. It’s something I can hold on to in times of stress.

Some months ago, I actually joined a gym. A co-worker of mine had an epiphany about her body image and we decided to register for aerobics. In theory it was a great idea. In actuality it sucked ass. A big, fat, flabby, hairy ass. The only other time I remember feeling so ridiculous was when I was a flower girl at an uncle’s wedding. I swear, if I was meant to prance and twist like that, I would have been a goat. The fact that my hand-eye-leg-music-instructor-rest of the class co-ordination can be described as negligible at best, also more than likely influenced my decision to never again return to Jack Warner’s lair.

The sad thing is I actually used to be fit. I had energy, stamina and all that good stuff. Then I hit puberty and things pretty much went downhill from there. Curse you academia focused education system!! I would attempt to re-start a fitness regime, but what’s my motivation? A hot bod? Methinks my body is just fine the way it is and whoever has a problem with that could just stop looking. Besides, I’m no beach bum and the only man in my life right now has four legs, a tail and barks.

Wow, this vid sure is long. It’s been thirty minutes and they’re still going strong. Kudos Billy, kudos! Just looking at those combat punches is causing my heart rate to increase. Wait! Could it be? Have I found the exercise of my dreams? Yes! I feel a bead of sweat forming. I don’t care that these nights have been warm. It’s a bead of fricking sweat dammit. Now if only I can find a way to do my job without actually working…

R.I.P.

Only the good die young. So, by my calculations I should live to see the new millennium. That’s not stopping me, however, from planning for my inevitable expiration date.

Some old white dude (either Woody Allen or Mark Twain) once said: “Death is a dull, dreary affair and my advice to you is that you have nothing whatsoever to do with it.” I think that’s a load of bullpoo. At least in the way it applies to me. My death may be dull and dreary, (I’m actually hoping it is. I don’t think I can handle all that pain and suffering just to die. It seems like such a waste…) but I have absolutely no intention of my funeral following that lead. And to ensure that, I’m going to put it in writing. Or at lest whatever typeface this is. Yep. As decreed by me on this 19th October 2007:-

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF SHREW297

What? You thought I would publish an actual last will and testament? Admittedly I did toy with the idea for a while, but no matter how it’s worded, legal jargon isn’t funny and I’m prone to migraines so - tough luck.

First thing first, I want absolutely no one bawling down de place and hogging my coffin. It’s my day damnit and anyone who even thinks of attempting to take the attention off me shall be hit with a spectral bitch slap. Besides, the chances of said bawler knowing me would be between nil and zero – the people who really know me would probably be too relieved to mourn.

Then of course, there’s the disposing of my earthly possessions. They say you can’t take your stuff with you when you’re dead, but to hell with them I say. I want all my assets turned into cash. I want my casket lined with said cash. Then I want to be cremated.

With regards to a funeral ceremony – I don’t want one in a church. In fact I don’t want one at all. The way I figure it, since I’m an unrepentant (and unrepentant I certainly am [for most things at least]), heathen in life, the half-hearted prayers and holy supplications of some old dude will be worth squat to me when I’m dead. I mean what good is praying over a dead body? To me that’s like knocking at the door of an empty house.

My parents can decide what they’re gonna do about disposal of my earthly remains. However, being the pushy bitch I am, I’ll leave them some tips: I read somewhere that rose plants love ashes and if mixed with a little water to form a paste ashes, since they're sterile, can be used as a salve for wounds.

At a point in time, people would ask me what I would do when my parents die. That’s the kind of sick bastards who make up this world. Hey I can deal with my own mortality. It’s pretty straightforward – I’m gonna die, but leave my parents out of it. Have some decorum at least. Besides, anyone who has ever met my parents would agree that the great possibility of them outliving me exists.

The thing is, nowadays you just don’t know when you’ll croak. Back in the day you were at least guaranteed a death after a life of drudgery and children; most likely from smallpox, malaria or plain boredom. Today, the chances of death are exponentially related to the number of feet you accidentally step on.

Personally, I am terrified of dead people. Thanks Mr. Romero! I’ve already told my maman if she died before me, I won’t be jumping on her coffin beseeching her to come back. I love the woman, but I’d want her to stay wherever she winds up. Plus I value what little brain I have…

Last year I found out that my best friend from primary school had died. She had been admitted to the Eric Williams Medical Sciences Complex for flu-like symptoms and died while undertaking care. I was made cognizant of her passing long after the fact, via the obituary column of a daily newspaper and for a fleeting moment I felt guilty for not keeping in touch. I soon realized that even if I had the temperament and was in the habit of calling ‘to touch bases’, it may not have affected the final outcome. I still feel sad though, and I keep my black ass away from Mt. Hope.

All I hope for is that when my time comes, I’ll have a caustic and offensive statement to make before I bid my last adieu; particularly if it’s in front of an audience. In the meantime, I’m trying to come up with a suitable epitaph. After all, if anyone’s gonna taint my memory, it gonna be me.