Watch your back

I used to have a file on my desk with the label “F-Ups”.

I never intended that it would become the subject of any controversy when I named it.  In fact, it was only when a board member asked me how many times I planned to “f@ck up”, that I saw the humorous side.  Before then, I diligently kept all documents that needed following up neatly inside it.

I jumped in my car and went to have my nails done. On my way there, I was getting pissed off that I was stuck in traffic.  It was 11am on a Tuesday morning and there was no reason for the stupid road in front of my office block to have had any issues.

When I eventually got to the end of the queue, I saw that there had been an accident.  There was a blonde lady standing outside her 4×4. She was on the phone and was crying.

There was also a crowd gathering around someone sitting on the floor behind her vehicle. There was no second car and I wondered what the blonde tart was crying about.  The traffic light went green and it was my turn to go.

I had called the salon to say that I was running late.   As I arrived and was running up the stairs, I looked back. I could see the crowd around the person sitting on the floor growing bigger and bigger.

When I got into the nail bar, the receptionist told me that the therapist was running late.  I was a little annoyed.  For God’s sakes, I thought, could you not have told me this when I called you to say I was running late?

I sat down and took out my Blackberry.  Yes, a Blackberry.  I thought I would use the time to check my emails.

The first email I saw was from a colleague from another division.  She was a known chaos-sower and we rarely had to interact, thank God.  Her email said that the CEO was urgently looking for a document, which she knew that I had kept a copy of.  So, she went to my desk and helped herself to a file which she thought may contain the document.  It was the F-Up file.  She made it seem as though she was “helping” me.  You know?  Doing the work for me in my absence, so that the boss would not find out that I was using “company time” for my private shit.  Yeah right!?  I worked flexi hours, dumb thing.

The nail technician did not turn up for work that day. She had been the one sitting on the floor and the blonde tart had reverse crashed into her while she was walking to work.  It was the last time she was able to walk.

I got back to my office and the tension was thick.  The F-Up file had been taken apart and my friend at reception whispered “She’s such a b2tch!”

The unpaid bills that were the subject of the commotion in the office had in fact been paid long ago.  I kept the copies in the F-Up file to remind me to change the address when we moved offices in months’ time.  If the chaos-sower had taken the time to look at the back on the document, the whole saga could well have been avoided.

I thought about the blonde tart.  I sent her love across the walls of my office block and down the main road.  I thought that perhaps a lot of f@ck ups could well be avoided if we took the time to look back.

But, I figured, that most times we’re so focussed on what’s on/in the front, that nothing else really matters. 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Cupboard & The Horny Old Man

My brother built a cupboard.

It was horrible. I walked into my mother’s home and it was the first thing I saw.  All tact flew out of the window and I said “That thing must go! It is terrrrible! God, it must go. Today!” 

He was lying sleeping on the couch. He threw his cover off and flew into a mad rage! A silent one.

I had NO idea he had built the cupboard. I also had NO idea my words had caused the commotion.

I was still focused on the cupboard. God, it was ugly.

My mother knew it was ugly too but she did not have the heart to say so. When she saw the explosion of feelings in her kitchen, her eyes met mine. They begged me to retreat. I ignored their silent plea.

I proceeded to contract my younger brother (read bribe) to tear down the ugly cupboard for me. We hatched a plan that as soon as the builder was out of sight, the plan would be executed.

The plan went well. The cupboard was torn down.

Very pleased with myself, I jumped into my car and planned to speed off before the cupboard artist returned. I turned on the ignition and there was the familiar sound from my young days. The damn car would not start. I tried again. It was stuck.

It was getting dark. I was annoyed.  My son helped my blood pressure rise by crying to get out of his car seat. His moaning was driving me insane.

That’s when I heard a call. A high pitched sort of voice. I looked out of my window and saw a man. A horny old man.

He was standing on his balcony, with just a towel around his waist. He said “Are you okay?” and I said “Yes, I am! My brother is just 5 minutes away, thank you”.

My son upped his volume. He seriously wanted out of that seat.

Next thing, there was a knock on my window. Yes, who else but the towel guy?

He peeked into the car. I was kneeling on the front seat with my bum in the air trying to reach my son in the backseat and calm him down. Yes, you can imagine the old man’s pleasure seeing that bum up close.

He said “Do you know what you can do with 5 minutes?”  and I replied “Call the cops and let them know that I am being attacked?”

“Attacked?” he said.

That’s when my brother showed up and we forgot alllllll about the cupboard.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Jealousy is a Disease

The notion of the “evil eye” is not new to me.

Growing up Catholic, one of the first things we learnt (after Adam and Eve and the snake with the apple trick) was the “Ten Commandments”. One of them goes “Thou shalt not covet your neighbour’s wife” and I remember it well.

I also saw lots of symbols in the homes of neighbours. Some put black eyeliner around the eyes of their kids, some hung things on the outside of their doors, all in the name of blocking jealous intentions.

It sunk in: Jelousy was a disease.

That was never really an issue for us. So, I never really had to equip myself with any armour to ward off jealous vibes. I never heard my parents comment on other people’s houses, cars, holidays etc. The notion that when someone does well, that you get out the voodoo kit is completely and utterly foreign to me.

But after a couple of brushes with life, I realized I needed some sort of strategy. The weapon I learnt to handle was the “light dimmer”.

It was quite simple to operate. I simply learnt to go inside my head very swiftly, and dim my light, any time my instincts told me that jealousy was on the radar. I mastered the technique quite quickly.

I used to think it was quite a good skill, actually. It worked!

For a while.

But soon enough, even with the internal light set to “dimmest”, I would STILL make it on to the list of the Professional Coveters. No matter how modest I was, no matter how much I downplayed my gifts, talents, relationships, experiences, opportunities, blessings, windfalls, miracles, the haters hated the light. The light set to “dimmest”. Poor things!

I know! I know! This is the part you go “Whattttt? Whyyyyyy? Never!” I guess we all have our moments of stupid.

But anyone on a genuine quest to fix the cracks in their self-programmed auto pilot of emotions knows, this shit is hard to implement authentically, even if you have read the whole damn library of self help books. It is even harder to unprogramme the crap once your system has it loaded.

It’s not all bad though. The breakthrough for me was the understanding that people are only jealous, when they count other people’s blessings instead of their own.

It’s a disease.

So friends, I encourage you to look inward and say “thank you”. And, while you’re sitting quietly, do spare a thought for the “sick” amongst us. May they get better soon.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Calling

I have answered a call and I am going on a journey.

A journey to rest, explore, connect to the magic that has called my names. All my names.

I am going to seek vibrations of ancient wisdom, to engage the feminine divine.

I am going on a journey to remember my past, to anticipate my future.

I seek nothing more than to remember my names. All my names.

I desire only to reignite the light at the centre of my being.

I send love and light ahead of my heart and say “Go on, brave one. Take another step forward in the direction of your dreams”

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

I Believe in Rituals II

I believe in rituals.

I believe that our talents evolve, our fantasies change, our goals shift.

I believe that allowing ourselves the space to create freely is a great indulgence.

I believe in a vision, mission and life policy that allows for edits.

I believe in the smell of babies.

I believe that “I understand” are among the most beautiful, healing words.

I believe in filtering the news.

I believe in avoiding traffic and people who complain.

I believe in tv-less bedrooms.

I believe in taking sides.

I believe in potato chips with mayo.

I believe that you can’t un-spill the water.

I believe in overdrafts.

I believe in routine maintenance.

I believe in self investment.

I believe in self-promotion.

I believe in talk radio.

I believe that humility and prayer will always be fashionable.

I believe in soft light, soft music, soft perfumes.

I believe in mentorship.

I believe in surrender.

I believe in less sugar, less tv, less hair processing.

I believe in ginger chai.

I believe in instrospection.

I believe in Tobasco sauce.

I believe that scrolling on your smart phone during church is sad.

I believe in cupping and dry body brushing.

I believe that sometimes no one knows exactly what you are going through, and that’s okay.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.