I’ve been so flat-out busy lately it’s not funny! And I never really know why, but whenever I say that line it never comes out sounding all cool and important and sophisticated like when other people say it. You know, like “I’m so busy lately it’s impossible to find any time to go scuba-diving / take a cruise down the Yarra / check out what’s on at the theatre / finish that book on Nelson Mandela / have a good cuddle with my beloved”. Like, evidently when they’re not busy, they actually have something called A LIFE.
Instead, coming from me (love-less, fun-less, generally “life”-less), it sounds — and IS — a yucky and depressing and crushing kind of busyness. The “running around like a headless chicken ON CRACK” kind. (Not that I’ve seen such hideous sight but I’m sure I look very much like that at the moment.) The “no time to clip my toenails” kind. The “not a single minute to even scratch my… er… self” kind. (I was about to say something else, a bit more specific, because I’m one for details, you know. But I’m also a tactful, classy person, obviously, so “self” would do.)
Anyway, so this busyness business is not nice. NOT. AT. ALL. (multiple exclamation marks!!! plus some more!!!!!) I’m very tired and grumpy and tense. And that’s a gross undrestatment undestaemetn UNDERSTATEMENT AARRGH!
Time for bed.