A Monday “Accident”

After a rush to get the kids off to school, I grabbed my diary off my bookshelf and rushed out of the front door in my white Converse.

 

I sat down at my corner spot at my local coffee shop, pulled out my notebook and turned to November.  Damn! Wrong notebook. Many years old.

 

I flipped through it and I looked at the words. 

 

List after list

Chest pains

Deadline after deadline 

Anxiety

 

Stress

More words

More deadlines

More stress

 

I recalled it all. 

 

I must tell you though, the coolest feeling in the entire world was as I realised that all that was in the past. 

 

…and that the crap we stress about today, will also just be old words and old memories in scruffy notebooks one day too. 

 

Shucks, that’s a lovely feeling! Don’t you think?

 

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© Lee Mayimele

 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Where we don’t know the origin of the pics used, all respect and due credit are hereby given where appropriate. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and A Heart Full of Stories with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All media rights and copyright for the words reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Crazy” is the new “free” (A short reflection on daring to be different)

I like “crazy” people,

 

You know the ones who sit down on the grass in a suit just because the spot is right and the grass is never going to be that particular shade of Jade again?

 

The ones who let their mascara run when a stranger’s baby takes their first steps?

 

The ones who eat bolognaise at breakfast and cereal at dinner?

 

The ones who simply say “not today”?

 

The ones who detox and retox in the same week?

 

The ones who leave all their curtains and windows open at midnight because it smells like rain?

 

The ones who collect shells, coins, feathers, and lavender even when it means their kids go Peter-from the-Bible on them?

 

The ones who have friends 40 years older, 30 years younger – some in places they can’t even pronounce?

 

The ones who have a silent melt down in the deli because they’ve run out of full fat double cream yoghurt?

 

The ones who simply say “not today”?

 

The grey ones who giggle in church, cry at sports matches and sing Spanish songs with all the wrong words?

 

The ones who dare to raise their hand and “object” when everyone around them is nodding?

 

The ones who wear clashing colours or their Wang wedding dress back to front simply because they prefer it that way?

 

I do love those people,

Because in a way 

we’re all dying to be “free”! 

 

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

 

 

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Again

This morning something strange happened. Again.

 

I am sitting at my table at 5am. Ginger tea in hand.  I am about to start writing my morning gratitude down when my phone pings. A reminder!

 

Now, I know I don’t have anything in my diary for today.  I planned it that way because I have to work all day.  So, I pick up the phone and things get stranger.

 

There’s a reminder and it looks weird. From Google calendar. I never use Google calendar. Spam! That’s my first thought.  Spam or a 419 scam.

 

The flashing thing on my screen says:

“People are sending me thank you notes. What people do with my writing is their business. My business is just to write. My heart demands it. There are times when I think. Me? What do I have to say that has not been said before? What if it doesn’t make sense? What if it doesn’t touch anyone’s heart? That’s when my heart sets the record straight”

 

It took me a few minutes to see the light.  To figure it out. I wrote that note!

I was walking past some graffiti that said AGAIN. I stopped and typed that note on my phone. I had been thinking about two lovely messages I received after my first published posts last week.  It was a random thought. But, I had written it down because it was burning.  I knew that I would need to unpack it.  To think about it.  To process it.  Then, write about it. Again.

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So here I am.  Telling you about my gratitude again.  My fears again.  My heart again.  My insecurities again.

And once again I say to you, Aluta Continua friends!  The road is long (for me)