I have plans for this evening myself. I've been anticipating them for a couple weeks. On my way home tonight, I will stop at the library and pick up the audio books I requested. I have Twelfth Night, read as a play, waiting for me. I also bought a jigsaw puzzle last week. Jigsaw puzzles are like crack for me, so I don't often start them. I'll sit nearly motionless for hours on end if I can work on a jigsaw puzzle. I'll do a puzzle until dawn if it is in front of me. Knowing that, I don't start 'em unless I know I have that kind of time and nothing else will suffer.
I feel mildly ashamed, doing a jigsaw puzzle. It is so pointless, putting together an arbitrarily cut-up picture. All that attention and nothing productive comes out of it. The voice in my head that reminds me of undone work doesn't approve of jigsaw puzzles. That voice sounds like a blend of my father and me. It prods.
But listening to a play sounds like a good evening. The best listening comes when the hands are slightly occupied. And I love doing puzzles. So I've been excited for this evening for a couple weeks.