I’m not here.
(OK, OK, you’re right, I’m here. I’m trying to make it look like I’m not here. These people with their questions and their projects and their deadlines and their delusions that I have answers won’t leave me alone. I’m staying here until they all go away. Or until I’ve emptied my email inbox. Whichever comes first.)
So, I’m not here. Now where could I be? Why, look! There I am! Over at Whit’s place, prattling on about god knows what*! Go, go, check it out! And bring the irate, pitchfork-wielding crowd gathered outside my door along with you!
*I’m pretty sure the little guy made it. I found something dead in the basement this morning, but it definitely wasn’t him. Too big.