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Merry F*cking Happy Whatever, You Know
Oh! Hey! Remember last year? I compared the year 2019 to a dry and awful blow job and I was SPOT ON and then 2020 hit, all salivated and hopeful and guess what motherfuckers? WORSE.
Fuck.
I don’t like to swear because my mother raised me not to. I don’t like to swear because someone once told me it was a sign of an unsubstantial vocabulary. I don’t like to swear because my kids (very occasionally) listen to me and yet…. did you live this year? Are there any other words? There are no other words.
And yet — when I look at my 2020 versus the 2020 of so many people I know and love, I am extremely lucky. I had Covid-19, weathered it and recovered, despite a significant secondary infection that tossed my body temperature to volcanic heights and left me nearly worthless for a week of 104 degree cold sweats. My year was full of reading and painting and writing 30+ Covid poems and telling stories in podcast and connecting with clients and friends and collaborators and dreamers and lovers and…
I didn’t get arrested during any protest I attended. Not like Nick Tilsen who faces 17 years in prison for leading a revolutionary peaceful protest on sacred broken treaty land because INDIGENOUS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. I didn’t lose my job over lack of vaccine Not like my friend Jen who literally gave her LIFE and bled…
