Isn't in funny how we spend a whole month shopping and wrapping, running and planning, organising, decorating, co-ordinating & cooking; in anticipation, in preparation, in an utter state of commotion for just two measly days of lazing, grazing and vegging out (well chez moi at least - reliable sources tell me it can be quite the opposite)?
December, in all honesty, is only bearable because of the promise it bears - I mean would you really queue for hours on end, fending off hundreds of co-shoppers in heaving stores to buy grandpa some fairly forgettable socks, at any other time of the year? Thought not. It's almost like we're so drunk on the Christmas Spirit that nothing seems unreasonable any more. Alas, Christmas Eve is upon us and tomorrow all our handiwork will be undone. Presents will be torn open, trees left bereft and all manner of indulgent food consumed.
Today, though, is the day to step back, take a deep breath and admire our twinkling, glittering, festively attired homes. It's the peace after a storm when we can finally declare we are "done" and collapse in a heap on the sofa.
I think Christmas Eve is a hot favourite with a lot of people - probably because it treads that fine line between anticipation & culmination. The best of both worlds. But while most of us will reflect on the work that's gone into making tomorrow memorable, for me it's about what, if anything, I've achieved to render my whole year memorable. 12 hours of being 22 remain - I know I'll be spending those searching for my answer.
Happy Christmas Eve.