The First Thing About Christmas

If Christmas isn't keeping you busy, then you don't know the first thing about Christmas.
You can't really love Christmas if you've never had a Christmas that was so busy that you thought you would probably just die of a fever that was so hot that it exploded your thermometer because of all the nights that you did five different projects that you would usually like to spend an entire day focusing on in one day and you came home and felt like you would like to just relax and succumb to the feelings of tiredness and sickness that are making you shiver from head to toe and burning the little nerves between your eyes, but did not because you knew that you could not because there were more projects to be tackled and more duties to be done and more horses to be beaten, mostly ideas that you're just desperately trying to prove to yourself were not "biting off more than you could chew" when you first had them in your Christmas planning meeting. So you're there with a room that is a wreck and a live wire bouncing throughout your brain that spazzed off because of all the overload of electricity going on in the cranial district, and a pile of costumes that "probably" should be sorted and washed before the next show (something that somehow became your responsibility), and all the minor home things to think about like the dishes that you're on in five minutes or the pile of laundry that, like a pregnant woman is slowly expanding in the corner of the shower room (and has long had a "please take care of me" sign attached to it), and you somehow still have the time to stand up on your two wobbly legs and yell "IT'S CHRISTMAS!!! Have you noticed, friends? Christmas is HERE! Christmas is in my BONES! Yaaaaa!"
Have yourself a hot cup of eggnog (just don't spill it as you run through the halls in warp speed) and sing a merry merry Christmas song with tonsils that are tired and abused like Michael Flatley's legs.