I've got about 100 hours of jazz radio tapes that I made when I lived in jockland. I know all this music so well. I really love it. Listening to it nutritionates nutrifies neuters I mean nourishes my soul. Makes me so glad to be alive.
Ten years ago I copied it all from tapes onto CDs. It took a while.
Yet I never play it! It's always too much trouble, or else the cellmate doesn't like it. Next year I'm going to listen to all of it at least once. Then all the classical stuff too.
In fact, I'm going to play some of the music over the P.A. at work, while I'm with the clients. I'll retire soon anyway, and it's hardly even a sacking offence.
On a related matter, I had two successes at work this year.
One was taking green tea to my work with the clients, despite there being a "no food or drink" sign on the wall.
The other success was when I met my boss last week and he told me what work he had allocated me for next year. I said I'd happily do the tasks I like, but that I wasn't interested in doing the other stuff. This week he fobbed the unwanted jobs onto someone else, and filled up my timetable with more stuff that I like doing.
This last bit might be relevant. I visited the mother outlaw in her old folks home today. She's better than when I saw her in hospital earlier in the year. But drops off every few minutes, at least when I'm there :) These places impress me as an argument for euthanasia (voluntary, but with incentives to make it appealing to the executees). Make it a respectable social ritual.