For the last few days, many people have expressed their thoughts about 2020. Most of them were reflections of lessons learned, experiences gained and being grateful for what they have.
But really, 2020 just needs a good roasting, left in the oven, forgotten, and shot with a rocket launcher. Pronto.
2020 was more of a mental pickaxe to my brain. The constant social media and bad news binges, the absolute dread of what would happen but never did in my circles, and the constant false starts on just about everything. I’ve journaled about it and not looking forward to reading those entries at all. The journal just spews black ichor when seen through a filter.
The greatest of all mental anguish was waiting. Waiting for 2020 to be over with. Like just… doing nothing but rap my fingers against the table, watching the clock and date change each day, having some of the worst brain fog not only on my writing but my adulting life. Everything frozen. Holding my breath for good news, any news, to surface that is safe enough to get behind. Emphasis on “safe.” Hell, anxiety attacks were a norm in the summer.
However, there were pieces of good news I’ll keep: a new president with experience for next year, a very rough draft of Ghost Factor, and my little brother got engaged (wedding is next fall I heard).
We all need normalcy right now.
2021 is shaping up to be a year of healing and recovery, whether or not it’ll be that way. When vaccinations are in full swing, things will slowly get back to normal. I’m looking forward to traveling again, a lot more than before.
But most of all, shutting up all the bad chatter I habitually gobbled up since 2020 started.
Happy New Year. May 2020 burn in Hell.