Let's cut right to the chase: I just don't have time for you.
Wow, Stace. A little harsh.
Let me rephrase that: I just don't have time for you.
Jeez, I guess that's about as sugar-coated as I get, but not because I enjoy taking your sense of self-worth and eating it for breakfast. I, very simply, do not have time to explain the millions of things going on that are keeping my physically, emotionally, mentally, cryogenically, ecumenically, badaboopilly occupied.
For instance, just today I have to contact the newspaper about advertising our take-it-or-we-dump-it garage sale, create and mail invitations for my mom's surprise party that she knows about, create invitations for my boss's fundraiser, recruit about a billion volunteers for an event in three weeks, figure out how to display my silent auction necklace, sort through a few hundred boxes from my childhood, and try to squeeze in work for which I am actually paid.
Don't even get me started on tomorrow.
Oh Lord, chest pains.
Is it normal to not feel my left arm?
I'll see you all on the flip side. Which may mean early November, but most likely tomorrow.