August 30th, 2021
Written on New Year's Eve 2020
Fuck You, 2020
Fuck you for turning hardships into armed missiles.
Fuck you and the people who find this pandemic neither comprehensible nor fixable.
Fuck you for obliterating linear time.
Fuck you, 2020, since you actually started this year with Covid inside of our borders, but all the airwaves were carrying was the impeachment. You were here, you bastard. There were articles in foreign and domestic papers.
Fuck the deniers.
Fuck the people in 2020 who expected others to ascribe to the idea that everything happens for reasons that are not ours to know, but especially fuck those of you who won’t mask or vaccinate.
Fuck discourse rooted in platitude.
Fuck the little holiday get-togethers.
Fuck the tension between primal reaction and public health decorum.
And fuck that guy who sneezed on me in April in Heinens. Turns out 2020 showed us how many of you there are. Fuck all of you.
Fuck you, 2020, for being a dead thing that so many are trying to keep alive while our federal government is burning up with misinformation and malevolence.
Fuck that dude who was too scared to stick the swab all of the way up into my sinus cavity for my Covid test. Geezus, sir. Get it together.
Fuck you, 2020, and all the people who stayed around a bad man too long. Seriously, fuck all the way off forever.
Fuck you, 2020, for so harshly pointing out that there are few catastrophes, in our own lives or in those of nations, that do not ultimately have their origins in emotional ignorance.
Fuck you, 2020, for being so full of crucial information, the kind that is frequently lodged in our minds without being active in them, and fuck anyone who both understands what we should do and then resolutely refuses to do it.
However, a big fucking thank you, 2020, for showing me what happens when words fail. And thank you for pointing out to me everyone who couldn’t be bothered and for showing me who’s willing to be cavalier with my life.
Now, fuck off forever into the next universe.
11/12/2022 10:39:47 pm
Rise prepare next by long data water. Agency modern put girl.
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This is a collection of biting and maybe poignant essays posted out of chronological order and written entirely as a coping mechanism through this stupid and contagious mess we've gotten ourselves into.