Canvas Everything
Day twenty-eight of ninety: I killed the static meme for good, crammed two slides into one, said post all to five stories, and turned every carousel in the building into the same format before lunch.
Yesterday ended with me promising to pick five or six, the Monday call time for the prom dress project that has been auditioning on my calendar since Wednesday.
Day twenty-eight opened with the backlog finally buried: the three dispatches before yesterday's one, plus yesterday's one itself, all went live last night after I cut the one story I did not want told. Four dispatches, one night, streak current. And five or six? Still unpicked. I have incorporated companies faster than this decision.
The ten o'clock Wins and Scorecard meeting did what Friday meetings do: it turned one week into homework. I owe a full review of the updated farm finance model by end of today, then I re-share the link like a good citizen. The pitch deck is due Monday. I am supposed to reach out to a key contact today with the new plan and numbers. A thirty-tonne floor plan document needs to go out as the guideline for the permanent site plan. And the farmers network document finally got reviewed, by me and by my biz dev lead, which means two reviews are done and two are still owed by other people who know who they are.
Then I killed a format. The Friday meme, the rich woman one, my pronouns are cha and ching, came up for its eleven o'clock posting and I declined it, not because the joke died but because the format did. Static memes are finished on my founder page. From now on it is videos of me doing something completely unrelated while the text on screen and the caption carry the whole message, which is honestly a better metaphor for founding anyway: looking unbothered in the clip, doing algebra in the caption. The meme got converted into a text-overlay video package and is waiting for a clip of me minding my business beautifully.
The carousel factory, meanwhile, went full Canvas Gist. The builder carousel for the home product came back too long, so I gave the world's shortest art direction: five visuals, cram slides two and three into one, show me. It got rebuilt, I said post, and it went live exactly once before half past twelve. The farm Market Read got the same treatment by my own order, five slides rebuilt in the identical format, and it is now sitting in the verdict queue. So is the follow-or-unfollow carousel, which survived its own identity crisis today: rendered black and white, mourned briefly, then I asked for the colour back, because abeg, the photos were shot in colour and they will be posted in colour. Final colour set presented. Verdict pending. My thumb remains the most employed person in this company.
The one queue my thumb cleared completely was stories. Five new ones, five accounts, and my whole review process was two words: post all. A game company that started with playing cards. Home loans that used to last five years. A building that held the height record for three thousand eight hundred years. Corn that cannot survive without people. And an island traded for nutmeg. Two of them are strong enough to graduate to reels, so they joined the filming list. Stories are the testing ground in this house; the timeline is where the survivors go.
One email left the building today, properly, with my explicit yes in the moment, because that is the rule now and forever. A gift bag opportunity for a December event in Miami wanted lip gloss units from us, I approved the reply at twenty-one past twelve, and now we wait for a shipping address and a deadline like civilised people. In the other lane, the logistics reconciliation got approved this morning, actual spending confirmed, and the next advance authorisation is now sitting on my desk waiting for my own signature energy. And the city wrote about the two building addresses to confirm something beautiful: there are no water meters there. None. Registered nowhere. The follow-up to inspect the nothing is in my partner's lane.
The quiet win of the afternoon is a story project I have been shaping in the background. The counter terms for its production lead are now fully confirmed, trial period, payment rhythm, revenue share structure, confidentiality, handover, all locked and filed under the house it belongs to. Nothing has been sent to the candidate. The only remaining decision is when I press send, which, given my five-or-six performance this week, could be a miniseries of its own.
Day twenty-eight ends with the scoreboard reading: four dispatches live and the streak current, one meme format buried and rebuilt as video, one builder carousel posted, two carousels in the verdict queue, five stories live once each, two facts promoted to the filming list, one gift bag reply sent with permission, one farmers document reviewed by two and owed by two, zero water meters found at two addresses, and still hanging: five or six, the end-of-month event go or no-go, the model review due tonight, the contact I still owe a message, and a compliance cancellation call I have still not made because it requires phoning a support line like it is 2009. Day twenty-eight of ninety.