Natasha has given me a tree for Christmas, or my birthday. It is a large tree like a birch, filling the main bathroom at my parents', but in such a way that it would fit nicely into a corner and still the room could be used. It still has the price tag on it: $199.99 from Fred Meyer's. It's planted in a small bucket, and I'm pretty sure that it will die soon.

Somebody is helping with the yard. I ask him something about planting this tree, but there's another tree in the way. He says not to worry, he already cut it down. I am incredulous, "what, you cut it down? No way. Show me!". He takes me outside and shows me all the help he's been with cutting down trees. It is a horror, he has helpfully cut down my favorite trees, including some huge old orange and white striped ones, which are now lying down by the bottom of the driveway. I am especially angry about those, as they were the only ones of their kind. I yell at my helper about how I painted those "giraffe trees" in one of my paintings, and now nobody will know what they are. I'm furious, and my helper is running away and hiding in the bushes up by the barn.