Busy

There is this:

The Disease of Being Busy

But then there is this, and this is what I’ve suspected all along: 

I’m So Busy Not Talking to You

I really can’t wait for the next time I see someone I used to know in the grocery store and ask, ” Hey, how are you?”

     “Oh, I’m just so busy!”

I’ll say, ” Oh, well, I never liked you, either.  I was just being polite.  I’ll let you get back to feeling important, now.  Take care!” And be on my way as quickly as possible.

I hate the word, busy. When I say the phrase “I’m sooo busy” in my head, I picture myself intentionally crashing my cart into someone else’s, stopping her dead in her tracks (usually a ‘her’) but her feet are still moving at 500 rpm like Fred Flintstone’s, with arms flailing around her head like the serpent hair of Medusa and her face ballooning into a giant, purple Charlie Brown head until she and her cart rise off the floor, bust through the ceiling and rise higher and higher into oblivion as she repeats, “I’m so busy, I’m so busy…” in an ever more urgent but fading helium voice.

I don’t claim to be busy.  I just smile, nod, say “hey…” and keep walking.

And then this is the best one of all:

The Busy Trap

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