It was quite traumatic. First of all, I was depressed. I've never been very adept at decorating. I struggled as a child to cut a straight line when making crafts. My brother used to unwrap my Christmas presents and re-wrap them for me, folding my sloppy creases into neat ones, shaking his head at the crumpled mess.
Decorating is like an algebra problem for me. It takes a lot of concentration and takes me hours to make a small amount of progress.
Thankfully, our tree is only about 4 feet tall, though it felt a lot larger. I couldn't figure out where to put the ornaments. Symmetry. Symmetry. Got to put them on evenly. I thought music might help me. The Nutcracker Suite played in the background. I once went to a ballet performance of the number. So beautiful. But then, it's just a fake world. Fake, like my tree. Like my ability to decorate. Like...
Then there were those crazy "Scentscicles." You know, those long scented sticks you can hang in your artificial tree to make it smell like a real one?
Well, last years sticks were still in the bags of decorations and their faint smell of pine reminded me of my first boyfriend's cheap cologne. My first boyfriend. The one I swore I'd live and die for. The one who got upset at me for holding the hand of a 7-year old boy I was babysitting. These old things are going in the trash!
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