'You're suddenly so busy.' He says, and he means it as an accusation. You are avoiding me, he thinks.

A chuckle escapes past my lips, vibrates in the phone.

No, hon, I've always been this busy. But you used to have a claim to part of my time, so I'd make a place for you… and now you don't, so you'll have to make do with whatever is left after I've sorted everyone else out.

Silence stretches as I ponder what to say, and I realize…Oh, how sweet, you didn't think I was just drowning in free time, desperate for you to call so I'd have something to do?

If you think back to when you met me, you might remember I used to be this busy, always running around from one place to another, my days full and happy and exciting and stressing, a kaleidoscope of experiences and emotions and a shit-ton of caffeine.

Ah, there, I got it.

'I've always been this busy, but I'm usually better organized.' Yes, enough implied but none said. Exactly what I was going for.

He stays silent.

'Well, call me when you have time, ok?'

Sure, hon, any time now. I don't think so.

'How about later? I think I might have twenty minutes, but who knows… If I stay, I'll call you.'

Of course I won't. I don't want to, and I don't owe it to you, so why would I?

Yeah, thought so.

'Ok, see you, take care.'

'Yeah, bye.'

And I have stolen his line, but who cares?

Apparently not me, not anymore.

God, such a rush.

I love how good I am at being bad.