Hey, Americans. The year 2020 here. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m not the reason you’re having such a horrible time right now. I’m just an arbitrary number decided by some rando monk who had a thing for Jesus. So stop blaming me and take some damn responsibility.
Because of your unconscionable, selfish ineptitude, people are going to remember me for the rest of history as “that year that really fucking sucked.”
And that’s not fair. I’m a cool year. At least, you used to think so. Remember when the idea of me seemed so neat? I’m the beginning of a new decade (one that you actually know what to call – what even is an aught?), I’m fun to say and write (first symmetrical year since 1919), and I’m ripe for endless vision-related jokes. Not to mention I gave you an entire month of 4/20. I’m chill as fuck!
But now you’ve had a tough few months and you’re looking for a scapegoat. A global pandemic broke out under your noses, and then too many of you didn’t cover up those noses, which, predictably, made everything much worse. Now your lives have changed, plans have been canceled, and you still don’t know if you’ll ever get to see Tenet in theaters.
And then, to top it off, a lot of you recently came to the realization that racism is still rampant in your country. As the pandemic was pushing you to your emotional breaking point, you watched horrific, distressing videos of police brutality that made you sicker than any virus ever could.
So look, I get it. Things aren’t great. You’re lonely, exhausted, and angry. But how is that my fault? What, you think racism just started because I came along? And, you know, viruses have been around since before humans even knew what a year was, so that one really can’t be pinned on me.
I have as much to do with your misfortunes as your astrological sign has to do with your love life. Your inability to get a date has nothing to do with whether or not Mercury is in retrograde. The only thing in retrograde here is humanity’s ability to own up to its shortcomings.
Also, this whole “blaming shit on the year” has become a bit of a habit of yours lately, hasn’t it? Poor 2008 didn’t piss away all your money, and 2016 has never been the same since you denounced it for all those celebrity deaths and Donald Trump winning the election. If Trump wins again are you going to blame that on me as well? Do you know how scared the next few years are of you? I keep getting texts from 2021 checking in on Betty White’s health. None of us want to be responsible for that.
And, just saying, if you have to blame the pandemic on a year, why me? It’s called Covid-19, motherfucker. The outbreak began LAST YEAR; 2019 went out to grab a pack of cigarettes and left me to deal with this whole mess.
You want to cancel me? I want to cancel all of you. This is an emotionally abusive relationship we have going on. While you were off with 2018 and 2019 you kept sliding into my DMs, telling me how much you wanted me, how much you were looking forward to being with me. And then, when you finally have me, all you ever do is talk about wanting to get rid of me, as though I’m the one that brought all this baggage into the relationship.
I’m sorry you’ve had a run of bad years. I wish I could have made you happier. But here’s the thing. If every year smells like shit, maybe it’s time to smell your own shoes.
We only have a few more months together and then I’ll be out of your hair. But just remember: it’s not me, it’s you.
