She's called Charlie. I thought he was the Charles, but now I have it straight. He's Leo.

She paints a pretty picture. He draws customers with charm. They are creative and have injected my hollows with reverberations of play, fun and a joy in life. It's like I've been full of dry rattling wood and suddenly my space is growing things.

Some of the things are pretty ugly. Charlie tries combinations that even a mute building knows won't work. I suppose that's not so bad, but she has a hard time giving up when something is not working. I guess her tenacity could be a hopeful trait for me if I have any difficulties. I can know that she won't throw me out too quickly.

Back in the days when I was filled with cabinetry and a carpenter, I thought that humans needed to find work that they love, and then they woulnd't feel so overwhelmed. If only people could discover who they really are, and what is in their hearts to do (I thought), then work could be manageable. Maybe work could even be like play.

Like me, for example. If I tried to be a sidewalk, or more likely, a house, I would really have to strain to fit the model and try hard to contain myself. But by knowing that I am a building, specifically a warehouse, I don't strain at all. Sometimes people have a clear structure like that. The carpenter that was here before was more of a stockbroker than a handyman. He would struggle to attend to the work he had assigned to himself with the wood while he couldn't wait to do his calls for trading.

But I guess something wasn't allowing him to be who he was. Maybe it was the other people who paid him and then told him what to make. Or maybe it was himself. I don't know because I never heard the orders for him to be a carpenter.

And now, Charlie and Leo are here. It is clear to me that they love what they are doing. And still I see them wear down, and get frustrated, struggle and strain. Maybe people can even be overwhelmed by playing?