Iím so pleased with myself that I canít even contain my glee. At least, I think itís glee, although that seems like too strong a word for whatever it is Iím not containing. Whatís the next step down the scale from glee? Delight? If it were glee, I think I could contain it. Delight, probably not necessary. Thereís not a lot of leakage anyway. Delight isnít that potent.
And why would I even want to contain my delight, except that itís embarrassing to be delighted about something as inconsequential (in the grand scheme, that is, assuming there is one) as finishing the quarterly tax returns. Maybe itís that embarrassment that I should be trying to contain. Just thinking about it makes me not quite so delighted, although Iím still pleased.
Itís not just myself that Iím pleased with, of course. I had to do the work, so most of the glory should fall in a gentle mantle around my shoulders. But I have to be satisfied (in a neutral sort of a way) that the universe cooperated and events conspired to allow me to do the work. If the phone and fax hadnít been relatively quiet, Iíd be complaining tonight instead of basking. So: huzzah, world.