I start to get busy.
No one around me seems to understand that I’m busy.
They think, I brought this all on myself, or I think that’s what they think.
I resent the fact that they think I’ve decided to be this busy.
They come to me with normal things.
I ignore them, or worse yell at them for bringing normal or in my mind petty things, or anything to me, can’t you see how busy I am, I think to myself.
Break this down further and it goes back to resentment for how busy I am, and how not busy they are, or they appear to be to me.
You can’t come to me with your normal stuff, when I’m too busy doing everybody else’s stuff, until I’m not busy with stuff.
Even then it turns out, I’m still carrying all that resentment on my shoulders.
The only person weighed down by all this busy is me, poor me and my burdens.
Maybe it’s time to move from angry busy, to lucky busy, happy busy, grateful busy and joyful busy. That makes more sense, except, I’m too busy for that.