When I started working in retail, way back when I was 16, the holidays lost some of their magic for me. Something about piped in "Santa Baby" and fake snow in the heat of August just made me into more of a cynic than I'd care to admit. I groan every year at the thought of trimming a tree. I don't work in retail any more, but in the years that I did, I'd sometimes trim 5 or 6 trees before I even got to mine at home. Not to mention that when I was a little girl, decorating the tree wasn't fun. My mom sat in her La-Z-Boy and basically commanded my father and I, giving us strict direction on where to place each ornament on the tree. It's the only night all year long that I can remember dreading because it always ended in tense silence.
And really, who was I kidding? I live alone. The tree is a big pain in the ass. Every year I've insisted upon it. I'd pull the damn thing out of storage, along with 5,000 ornaments and all the other detritus that ends up tacked up all over my apartment. It takes me all day to put the thing up, but because I'm never actually in my apartment on Christmas day, I don't get to enjoy my handy work. It's just pretty for me when I come home at night. Taking it down after the holidays is another matter entirely. I usually procrastinate until about February, giving the tree angry looks as I walk by it for not putting itself away.
This year, none of that. I've decided to liberate myself from bad memories and time ill spent. The only decorations I'm putting up are a wreath on my door and maybe some mistletoe in a doorway. I'm going anti-decoration so that I can focus on the stuff that matters most. Imagine that.