F*** this F***ing Pandemic Seriously

I’m so fucking sick of this fucking pandemic today.

Hello, what is the return policy on pandemic viruses? Because I’m very dissatisfied with this one. What’s the problem? Well, it fucked up fucking everything?

And it fucking killed a shitload of people? And caused BRAIN DAMAGE in a shitload of people? And it makes everything harder? Yes, that’s right, I said EVERYTHING.

Hi hello can I please speak to the manager because I was prepared to lose old friends and family members over the election. I was not prepared call someone I love from my fucking fortress of solitude (where I have been living with two VERY demanding roommates who only like ONE KIND OF BREAD but they each like a DIFFERENT KIND OF BREAD so we’ve always got TWO LOAVES OF BREAD GOING like BREAD ROCKEFELLERS or some shit) and be like ring ring ring hey lady how are you? You hanging in there, and they’re like Sorry I can’t hear you I’m at a barbecue—

ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THE HOUSE! MY SON ONLY GETS ONE FIRST YEAR OF SCHOOL FUCKING EVER DO YOU THINK YOUR BARBECUE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MY SON’S SOCIAL-EMOTIONAL—wait whose barbecue?

Because I’m fully 10,000% invested in making personal choices designed to protect public safety, but also, I feel very alone. (Point of clarification: I am never alone.)

I call a friend and say “So what have you been up to” and they’re like “I dunno. You?” And I’m like “I dunno.”

Then I call another friend and say “Hey I just talked to so-and-so,” and they’re like “Cool what are they up to,” and I’m like, “I dunno.” I yearn for the days when our days produced stories to tell.

And then we breathe on the phone until it gets weird and one of is does the “OK WELL...” that means “this is ending now because silence demands less of me than this weird non-conversation,” and the other one says, “yeah I gotta go too,” because we both have VERY demanding roommates who need microwave popcorn and a diaper change, respectively.

I’ve never wanted to connect with people so badly yet I’ve never had less to talk about.

How am I “doing”? Probably the same as you. YOU wanna talk about it?

I’m doing literally all the same shit you’re doing. Unless you’re going to barbecues in which case I’m gonna say, “OK WELL...” because I have a lot of feelings about loving a person whose personal choices aren’t designed to protect public safety.

I don’t even know you anymore, like what else have you been doing this whole time? Licking produce at the store while you have canker sores? Blowing peanut dust into the cafeteria? Merging onto the highway with twenty unsecured combine harvesters rattling around on the flat bed behind you? “No it’s gonna be fine. Even if they do fall off, they’ll be BEHIND ME, see? So I’ll just keep going.”

And if I feel so alone, and I am NEVER THE FUCK ALONE RIGHT NOW, what about people who are legitimately quarantining alone? Are you okay? Can I send you a volleyball to talk to? I’d offer to call you myself but you already know how that conversation’s going to go.

I’m so fucking sick of this shit today.

I feel like in January I was all NOW I WILL MAKE THE PLANS and a little voice in my head said “Easy Tiger, take it one day at a time.”

Then in February I was all HERE’S MY 2020 MAPPED OUT MONTH BY MONTH and that voice said, “Okay but maybe you could also take it one day at a time.”

And then in March I was all OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY we’re PIVOTING NOW but check it out here’s the REST OF THE SCHOOL YEAR MAPPED OUT WEEK BY WEEK and the little voice in my head pulled a mallet from a sack and began to whap it into its little voice hand singing, “One day at a time,” to the tune of Ring Around the Rosie like a creepy horror movie kid.

And now it’s July and the voice is like “WHAT DID I TELL YOU TO DO,” and I’m all “you said one day at a time,” and the voice is like “AND DID YOU TAKE IT ONE DAY AT A TIME” and I’m all “No ma’am,” and she’s like, “This hurts me more than it hurts you,” and she takes that sledgehammer (yeah it’s a sledgehammer now) and—

HI HELLO I NEED TO REPORT A VOICE WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER BEING EXTREMELY RIGHT? IT’S AN EMERGENCY.

At first I was like woo hoo no underwire and no pinchy shoes! I embraced slipper culture and discovered that I have a dressy sports bra.

Then one day someone on Twitter was like “dress up for fun and take a picture!” and I put on a sexy bra and a dress and some shoes and some lipstick and I walked out onto my back deck and realized I HAD ARRIVED AT THE PARTY THAT WAS NOT HAPPENING AND IT HAD NO PEOPLE JUST EMPTY YOGURT CUPS FULL OF DISAPPOINTED ANTS.

I took a selfie and I picked up the trash and knocked out the ants. When I walked back inside the sound of my heels on the hardwood floor sounded just like that cup on the rail of the deck, smacking all the living hungry things out of the promise of a treat.

I get why graduating seniors didn’t want to do Zoom graduations, is what I’m saying. It’s fucking depressing.

Hello, yes, I need to speak to someone about my recurring nightmare where I show up to my own birthday party dressed to the nines and the host shows me to a private party room in the middle of a huge packed club and the room has glass walls and it’s all decorated and full of food and drinks and a disco ball and NOBODY’S FUCKING THERE BUT ME and I’m like a sad lonely goldfish who’s eating her feelings? Yes, hi, I have some questions about how closely our current and near-future reality is going to hew to that stress dream? Feels like it’s getting close? Possibly too close?

I’m sick of people I love experiencing joyful celebrations while I can’t hug them.

I’m sick of people I love experiencing grief while I can’t hug them.

I’m sick of my children and they’re sick of each other and me, sometimes in that order and sometimes not. I prefer it when they’re sick of me because at least when they have a common enemy they fart on me instead of each other. At least I don’t whine about it.

I’m so, so sick of worrying about them. I’m so sick of grieving what they’ll never know they lost. I’m sick of reminding myself I too was born into a world full of grief. On day two of existence, the world was in grief. I’m sick of returning like a stubborn cat to sadness. I’m sick of having to shake a bag of treats to coax myself back inside.

I’m sick of having to gaze into a fucking crystal ball to fucking guess about whether the place we planned to go outside today is too crowded with other glassy-eyed, white-knuckling parents and their manic pixie nightmare children who have also gone feral over the past months of 19 hours a day on screens and all the breakfast cereal they can eat. I’m sick of being like:

Chicken, please keep your mask on.
Chicken. Mask.
I know you don’t like it, babe, but we have to keep them on while we’re close to people outside.
Mask up kiddo.
CHICKEN. MASK. I’m not saying it again.
CHICKEN CUTLET ANTHONY YOUR MASK GOES ON YOUR FACE NOT YOUR—

I’m sick of the other parents in our school district Facebook group. No shade to you if you’re in the group. You didn’t do anything to earn my ire (unless you did, and in that case you know what you did). I’m just sick of the relentless pinging anxiety and displeasure and lowkey panic and highkey panic that other parents just fucking RADIATE right now and I know because I RADIATE it too and you’re probably sick as FUCK of me right back.

It’s like after you have a baby and people are like you know what TV show you should watch? Workin’ Moms!

BITCH WE LIVE IN WORKIN’ MOMS WHERE’S OUR OUTLANDER. I can’t absorb any more anxiety about kids and school. My terror sponge is full.

I’m sick of the same fucking four fucking dinners. Burritos. Pasta. Chicken nuggets. Pizza. BACK TO ONE. WE’RE GOING AGAIN. My husband made burritos for dinner tonight. I read this to him and he made a sad face and I felt bad but then he said, “The cats just eat cat food. Does that make you feel better?”

Then I typed his words on this screen while saying them out loud back to him and then I paused and he said, “I hear it,” and went to do the dishes.

Hello I’m calling to leave a review for my husband? Of all the things I am fucking sick of right now, he is not one of them? And I would also like to just say that the burrito was delicious?

Hi, hello, yes I need to speak with someone about learning to cook? No, actually, I’m sorry, I need to speak with someone about learning to give a shit about cooking as much as I give a shit about eating? Hello?

Hi hello who can I talk to about Facebook serving me ads for shit I CAN’T FUCKING USE RIGHT NOW?

Hello yes I need to speak with someone about the widening gap between how much I hate my yard and my motivation to do any work in the yard? NO I CANNOT HOLD.

My sister posted a meme that said if you’re relaxing but mentally you’re reminding yourself of all the shit you have to do then you’re not really relaxing. That’s a very wise meme.

HI HELLO WHO THE FUCK DO I TALK TO ABOUT HOW IMPORTANT MEMES HAVE BECOME TO ME OVER THE PAST MONTHS?

YES HI I’M INQUIRING ABOUT THE SCHOOLS IN NEW ZEALAND?

I’m kidding of course. I’m not going any-fucking-where. Even though I’m so fucking sick of this pandemic bullshit that’s all the fucking way into voluntary overtime at this point, I’m FUCKING STICKING, okay?

Mask up, fuckers, and wash your goddamn hands, and if you love someone LET THEM GO AT LEAST SIX FEET AWAY FROM YOU AND OUTSIDE FOR FUCK’S SAKE - and then make the most important customer service call of your entire fucking life.

Hi, hello, yes, I was wondering, who the fuck can I vote out for this?

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MASK UP FUCKERS

xoxoxo