Melt. Lisa Walker

did a reasonable job of looking disappointed. Maybe he was.

      ‘After tonight, I mean,’ I added, as I took out the key to our room and pulled him in after me, almost tripping over his guitar in the process.

      Sorry, Marley – too much information.

      As the plane took off, I gazed out the window. The Himalayas were glorious as always and the world looked as it always does from on high – exciting and full of possibility. But after two years roaming the globe, this was the sum total of what I knew about life: I was broke, tired and going home.

      I close the email.

      Shutting my eyes, I imagine the day ahead of me, step by step – I will succeed and impress at every opportunity, I will succeed …

      Chapter Two

      I ascend the Cone of Certainty

      Project: Monday morning routine (continued)

      6.25–6.55: Morning yoga (remember to stay in moment, breathe, relax)

      6.55–7.15: Breakfast (home-made muesli with low-fat yoghurt, goji berries and chia seeds)

      7.15–7.45: Wash and dress (outfit laid out the night before to facilitate this step)

      7.45: Walk to Chatswood train station

      7.58: Catch train to Town Hall (travel pass pre-purchased to prevent delay). On train: Check and respond to email, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram (remember: one third respond, one third communicate, one third encourage)

      8.27: Walk from Town Hall station to office

      8.39: Arrive at work, change shoes, brush hair

      8.45: Work commences

      Total time: 2 hours 30 minutes

      Critical events: Leaving home on time / Train arriving on time

      Visualisation over, it is time to proceed at a relaxed and orderly pace through my morning routine.

      I glance at the clock. Unaccountably, it is 6.50. I am behind schedule; ground must be made up. While I’m much more disciplined than I used to be, I am not as disciplined as Adrian. Adrian’s morning routine always runs to plan. Soon mine will too. I will absorb his effectiveness through osmosis. I will become a better version of myself. I just need to try harder. I leap out of bed, mentally revising my morning routine.

      Yoga. I rush through a few half-arsed sun salutes. Check. Adrian does Bikram yoga – the one where you exercise in a room heated to forty degrees. I tried it once but had to crawl out and lie on the cold floor outside after fifteen minutes. To be honest, it wasn’t only the heat; I was psyched out by the bikini girls in the front row next to the wall-length mirror. The contrast between them and me, in my baggy sweat-soaked T-shirt, was stark.

      Adrian told me not to come again unless I was going to try harder. I intend to, but every time I think about it I get flashbacks of my face reflected in the mirror – I looked like a sinner in the fires of hell. Adrian tells me it’s all in my mind and I’m sure he’s right. In the near future I will do Bikram regularly in a red bikini which displays my flat and lightly muscled stomach. I have added this to my morning visualisation. Adrian says creating a vision of success is half the battle.

      Breakfast. Unfortunately my home-made muesli currently consists of ten unopened packets of ingredients in a shopping bag. I’m not sure how that happened as muesli-making was definitely scheduled for Sunday afternoon. Then I remember – there was that special episode of Dynasty on the box. It’s lucky Adrian didn’t stay for breakfast. I stuff down some cornflakes and instant coffee while re-scheduling muesli-making for my evening project plan. Check.

      Some sad lettuce leaves, a hard lump of cheese and an unidentifiable bowl of leftovers greet me as I place the milk back in the fridge. Strangely, my cleaning fetish only extends as far as the surfaces on display. I can’t find the same enthusiasm for the insides of cupboards or for removing dust balls under my bed. I don’t know why that is, but never mind. Once Adrian and I get married and move to our new house, I’m sure this defect will be overcome. I will dust and polish our lovely home in my red bikini and grow a herb garden which is the envy of the neighbourhood. I’m so looking forward to it.

      Dress. I glance at my cupboard where today’s outfit hangs on the door handle. After work I’m meeting Adrian for dinner at six-thirty pm. The grey pantsuit will carry me from work to dinner at Le Max. I have a slinky black top to replace the un-slinky work top. I do need to make some effort. It’s the first anniversary of the day we got together and I think tonight he’s going to propose. Pantsuit on, I run a comb through my short hair – so much more practical than those flowing locks. Check.

      Departure. 7.45. Check. Yay – I’m back on course.

      As I step out the door, something remarkable happens. White flakes drift past my eyes. It’s like I’m in Chamonix again. It’s snowing!

      I stretch out my hands and flakes land softly on my palms. I register their warmth. Of course they’re not snowflakes. This is Sydney. It’s ash from a fire in the mountains, carried here by the hot westerly wind. I watch the flakes fall and a stillness comes over me. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the faint scent of smoke. Then a man in a suit brushes past, jabbing my hip with his briefcase. The stillness is gone. I have a train to catch.

      On the train, my mind returns to Adrian. Adrian has taught me so much about time management. Before I met him, I used to fritter away hours and hours smoking dope and watching clouds. But there is no point in regret. Adrian tells me to think of each day as the first day of the rest of my life.

      I’ve learnt from Adrian that everything important in life requires a plan. I’m not sure how I got through the first twenty-six years of my life without one, but I’ve made up for lost time. I suppose it’s only natural that I’m not yet on Adrian’s level, I’m coming from a low base. Whenever I have doubts, the red bikini spurs me on.

      ‘Prior planning and preparation prevents piss-poor performance,’ Adrian says.

      He can be funny sometimes.

      It seems weird to admit this, but I’m not sure what Adrian does for a living. He explained it to me, but I couldn’t grasp it. And now it is way, way too late to ask him again.

      As far as I can work out he is a free-ranging man of influence – a gun for hire. He told me once he uses his outstanding project management skills to advance his clients’ goals. Last month he was responsible for getting the Mayor of Sydney re-elected, but he has moved on. He mentioned something about federal politics. Whatever it is he does, he is good at it.

      On my laptop I open the Project Adrian Plan (never to be referred to as PAP). Six months ago I entered a line item: Engagement. I left it a little open. Any time between December and February would have been fine. But I’m ready to increase the certainty on that now. I delete Dec–Feb and put in a new target date: Tonight. It is time to ascend the Cone of Certainty. Imagine, I could have gone my whole life without hearing of The Cone if it wasn’t for Adrian. Oh, to reach the perfection of the point. Oh, to reach it with Adrian. Tonight. Tonight I will ascend. Using my drawing tool, I make a little picture …

      Cone of Certainty

      Then, as I often do on the train, I start a new email.

      To: Marley Lennon Wright

      From: Summer Dawn Rain Wright

      Subject: My first encounter with taskeddling

      It was funny how I hadn’t liked Adrian at first, Marley. I had woken, two hours into the flight, bleary and fractious, and pulled myself upright.

      My hair was a tangled, snaky mess. Next to me Adrian had his