As the minutes waned on the remnants of 2020, I toasted to the imminent departure of a truly awful year.
It turned out, that the first week of January was merely a continuation of the hell, not a break from it. I should have expected it. The mere turning of a calendar hadn’t changed our circumstances, but it’s hard not to equate January 1 with some sort of wipe the slate clean bullshit.
Rather than lament the extension of the worst year on record, I’m feeling hopeful that come January 20th, the new year of 2021 will finally begin, and we will have taken 2020 out the trap door and beaten the shit of it.
Until then, put your head down do the work — whatever it is that lets you express your creativity and intellect. It’s a far better alternative than doomscrolling twelve hours a day.
In times like these, I like to remind myself of what I do have: a loving family, food, shelter, clean water, and a healthy stash of red wine. With that, I can survive anything the remnants of 2020 throws at me.