Nothing satisfies like coming up with a truly vile pun: "I really should push myself out to do that Chopin. Mahler to milk."
I wonder what people do on Christmas Eve. I suspect not what I did today: put up insulation under the foyer of my house. Among other things, I think I got an idea of what it might like to be asthmatic. (Breathing through a disposable face mask is work.) There are no indications yet that it's actually doing anything.
I wonder, too, how to spend the evening. Playing a game of some kind? I might've been perfectly happy with that some years ago, but these days, both my reduced attention span and my guilty conscience make that less likely. I could try to put more stuff away, but it's like walking on a treadmill, especially since much of it I'm not allowed to touch. I'm also a bit behind on work... yeah, that's a lovely thought; doing work on Christmas Eve. Well, perhaps it's for the best.