Well, the tree is finally up, everyone. It just wasn’t the Christmas season without it. I can actually feel Santa Claus in the air. It might be a little late, considering it’s Christmas Eve Eve (2 days until Christmas) but better late than never.
I love my tree. It’s taller than me (most things are, but still), and it is more fun than almost anything else in the world. It’s made of plastic and metal, and that’s totally fine with me. I have never missed the sentimental pine smell or the needles littering the floor. Nothing really says Christmas like lugging the plus-size cardboard box up from the basement, slicing through the tape and pulling out the cold red base. The holidays don’t really start for me until then. The angst that comes with untangling the stupid lights is just part of the season, and is immediately rewarded when they start blinking. Pulling out the branches from the box and matching the colored tapes is enjoyable, but hazardous (I have pinkish cuts lacing up and down my right arm which I suspect came from the poky wires). But nonetheless, after all that physical labor it’s almost real-looking and totally worth it. This year, all the red lights went out but at that point we didn’t care at all. We just hung up a bunch of round red ornaments to make things even out. Then, the tree was decked out with the same little oddities we’ve been using since forever: snowmen with names, plush mittens, sparkly orbs, and all the better things in life. The fake branches scratched me all the time, but I didn’t mind, because I wanted this teddy bear or that keepsake to be right there.
This is how it’s always been in my life, every Christmas. Not the belated-ness, but the big green thing in our living room, always a good amount of presents left by the old man in the red suit. It’s been there every year since who-knows-when, watching to make sure I’ve been good. It’s my stupid, beautiful artificial tree.
Ciao for now,