I'm busy. Really I am. I have a paper on Wizard Rock on the go, I'm doing laundry, and the hens are out and about. The personalities of the hens really do change between the string of days when they're cooped up and the days when they're out and about doing their chicken thing. They're happier hens when they get to free-range without the limitations of wire. They're more playful and like to scoot around my ankles inquiring about food. They stand on the top step looking in through the screen door to see what's happening. At the end of the day, they go to bed early, all tuckered out.
I'm busy. Last night I was finishing up emails from work and I heard the screen door at the front. No knock. I thought someone must be leaving something. I gave it a couple of minutes as I sent off an email, then went to see. There was a guy there. Telling me about electricity bills and how he was doing a survey. That's a crock. They've been using that line for about six months to get people to switch electricity companies. So, not only was it creepy that he didn't knock and that he then waited, standing outside my door, for that long, but I tell him pointedly that I'm busy and not interested. "I'm busy too," he responds. I blinked. I now wish that I'd retorted that I don't care if he's busy - he's on my doorstep and uninvited. It's not like I'm taking time out of his busy schedule. I understand that he may be tired of people sending him on his way, but that's not my fault.
I'm busy. I'm half way through the final sleeve (okay, it does take me a while!) and already busily thinking that Vivian would look best in red. Don't you think?