Blame the tokoloshe

Years ago I went through something of an alternative phase. I burnt incense. I learned to read tarot cards (long story. Don’t ask). I also bought into notions of positive thinking and visualisation, which in many ways prefigured that most malign of publications, The Secret.

In many ways, what triggered all of this was an Alpha Mind Power seminar run by an Australian who taught us to think about the colours of the rainbow and slip into an altered brain state in which we could exert influence in unusual ways. Using his techniques, participants would be assured of finding parking spaces, never having to stop at red lights, and the car of your dreams, if you visualised these things with sufficient focus. (He didn’t mention how this technique would affect the synchronisation of traffic lights, or what would happen if two proponents of Alpha Mind Power travelling in different directions approached the same intersection with the same idea. Details, I suppose.)

One of the most useful techniques he taught us was how to find missing objects. I wish I’d paid more attention. The hours I must have spent looking for lost things, the panic and the stress, the frustration at never having something when I need it, and of course the annoyance with myself. Centuries from now archaeologists will probably find the ceramic baking dish I bought from Clicks for a friend’s birthday in 2006 and never saw again.

Because I’m stressed, my memory is shot and I have no idea where anything is, I lose things a lot more often now. The things that tend to vanish, in no particular order, include the following:

Pens
Nail clippers
Asthma inhalers
Eye masks (the ones you get from airlines)
Dental floss
Eyeliner
Hairclips
Hairbrushes
Hair bands
Lipbalm
Socks (don’t have a single matching pair)
Car keys
House keys
CDs
ID books (recently I thought I’d lost an ID book belonging to a friend who’d given it to me for safekeeping and went through weeks of unbelievable angst — some of it involving floods of tears — before it turned up; he’d had it all along)

The worst thing about losing stuff is when you find it again — usually after having coughed up for a replacement. It’s so horribly wasteful, and psychologically it’s unnerving, as if there’s a Daily Sun-style tokoloshe who sneaks into your house and absconds with your stuff when you’re not looking.

Blame the tokoloshe. I think that’s what I’ll do.