I recently went to the drugstore to pick up gummy bears or nail polish or sedatives (who even knows the difference anymore), and saw a festive greeting card with just one glittered number on the face:

2020

First of all: too soon. Second of all, and maybe it's the nail polish fumes talking, but who in their right mind wants to friggin' celebrate the year 2020? 2020 is the year hope died during the election only to be rescued and resurrected in the form of reluctant and complacent relief. 2020 sucks. It's the year China was blamed for an Italian transmission of the most unfathomable, fatal health crisis to the US in its history. For Philadelphians, it's another year the Eagles lost and the Sixers lost and the Flyers lost and the Phillies lost and...the Union won, which was when I found out Philly has a major league soccer team. But yay for soccer!

Anyway, I'm in an unusually good mood, or now it's the gummy bears talking. I'm kind of excited by some of the things that we did this year to accommodate 2020. I'll be the first to admit: I am full of unmitigated GLEE that I don't have to visit my in-laws for Thanksgiving. I'm happy not to have to suffer any more cheap wine at art openings or pretend I know whatever obscure artist that visiting curator has just name-dropped. Conversely, I am absolutely living for the dramas of other people's Zoom SNAFUs. I love seeing your home offices in the background. I love even more when it's clear you're hiding in your bathroom to take a call a safe distance from the demon children who have taken over both your physical house and the executive regions of your mental functions.

So unless another awful thing happens in the next 24 hours, I want to say I'm happy for us that this week we get to formally express our gratitudes.

And finally, the sedatives are talking: someone please call my in-laws and say hi for me.

xx,
Anne