A follow-up to this post about our sad Christmas tree: This past Sunday I decided that the tree had to go and I was the one to do it (since I'd put so much of a fuss over throwing it away). So, scissors and saw in hand, I cut up the entire tree until it could fit into two garbage bags. Oddly enough I began the task right after watching The Two Towers and felt a bit Orcish in my pursuit.
For future reference, it took about two hours to cut down the tree -- two hours which left me with sappy cuts on four of five knuckles. And while I was entertained by singing along with the film version of Chicago in the background, I was thoroughly disappointed by how, after the first couple, traumatizing hacks at the tree, I was able to become completely desensitized about the task at hand. With a statement like that, I can only imagine that one day I'll be known by my full -- including -- middle name some day.
Lesson to be learned: Artificial Christmas tree next year and get some therapy.
