An hour's work this morning and I've successfully handed off a rather time-consuming duty that really doesn't require my immediate attention.
I feel so pompous saying that, but we had fun. The tiniest flaming gay man in the universe, standing on my desk learning to be flamboyant in giving presentations.
For all his mannerisms and attitude, when you put him in the spotlight he is one shy guy.
As with most apparent extroverts, of course, I should know that instinctually, know the cost of every one of my own silly grins on my inner terrified child.
I was still surprised at how he hesitated initially, but the we got silly and then we got down to business and made some big changes and now he's off and running to organize, organize, organize and I have one less worry on my chest, just a casual reminder in my calendar which says "check with Nic on status".
I just wish I was that successful with all of my piles of mess, the document from hell which is slowly turning into one large pile of barf rather than spontaneous little mounds of scattered puke.
But I'm getting there. Some major obstacles have been ironed to the ground, some major players seriously impressed with changes.
I like making changes. I want to change the world.
I'm starting here. And I'm defying the hundred drones at their desks, who do what they're told because they're told to. I'm yelling and making as much noise as I can before the smiles disappear, and I'm making changes because I have the courage to.
And the world is moving with me, people are following my initiatives because I am the only one making them.
Sometimes.
Other times politics make it all complicated, but that's alright. I can handle that too. A little at a time.
Last night, though... There was a ghost in my head and I couldn't chase it out.
Last night I was looking at the house with disatisfied eyes, disorganized furniture, the multitudes of haphazardly arranged plants, the way there is so much STUFF everywhere, and yet none of it intentional, with purpose.
My lack of aesthetics is showing, and while there have been leaps and bounds since that appartment with John, while there is very little on the floor and very little actual dirt, this place lacks the simplicity of Paris' blue and yellow suites.
And last night it was my fault, my lack of inspiration, my ineptitude.
And yesterday afternoon, knocking off working from home when a random friend showed up at four, we played in the backyard, with shovels and rakes and an axe and aching muscles, and pulled brick after rock after rusty metal hanger from the soil that had been left wild for the last ten years.
The roses are trimmed, the trees held in check, and this weekend will be a tumult of rototilling and measuring peat moss and compost and topsoil, laying out the vegetable garden and preparing the earth to seed fresh grass, hostas, lavender, jasmine, and anything else that might strike my eye over the coming month.
And it won't be beautiful or aesthetically right, but it will be warm and comfortable and will smell of sweetness and good intent.
But last night, oh last night... I was so far from perfect. Last night in my head I was lazy and slow and turning into a couch potato who never did anything. Last night the backyard project was a tribute to my turning useless yuppie drone, and in the dark of my pillow I hated the room that was confining me.
This morning I promised myself to find answers, adventures, ways to run free and yet love the house and garden and home at the same time. This morning I pledged to book that white water kayaking course today.
Today I am just a step closer to the thousand goals I hold in my small hands.