I haven't celebrated Christmas in several years. However, I'm currently staying with my grandmother, who celebrates it herself. Therefore, today I got shanghaied* into doing all the decorating.
I really enjoyed decorating trees as a little girl. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that my mother bought me a miniature tree when I was five, which I decorated for the next eight years. Back then, I was happy with random placement of ornaments. It seems that's no longer the case.
Did you know a person can spend over an hour and a half on a less-than-two-foot tree? I did this afternoon. I wouldn't have if I'd come up with a system beforehand, possibly, but as it stands I kept having to rearrange ornaments because a given area was too wreath-y, or too white and gold, or whatever. My grandmother, sitting on the couch, noted that I moved one ornament (some potpourri gathered in red lace and tied with red and green ribbons with matching rosettes) seven times.
The wreath on the front door is crooked. She doesn't believe me, but it is. I know what I'm going to be doing at 4 AM. I've been waking up in the middle of the night and not able to go back to sleep, so I know I'm going to jolt into full adrenaline-juiced consciousness screaming "Poopadities, that wreath is still crooked!"
I think this is why I have so little success in long-term rel@tionships; the cosmos understands the need to protect me from getting married and then Stepford Wife-ing my way into the asylum: "But those cupcakes had the wrong sprinkles!" "That's nice, M., time for your meds!"
*I volunteered. Never again.