Holidailies commands: Write the family holiday newsletter that you’ve never dared to send.
Dear Nosy People Who Are Reading This Just to Find Out Whether I Am Married or Dating and Who the Guy Might Be, Where I Work and How Much Money I Make, Whether I’ve Signed a Book Deal Yet, and Whether I’ve Gained 50 Pounds During the Pandemic:
NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS.
If I wanted you to know all of that stuff, I’d have kept you in my life all these years and you would already know the answers save my salary because ain’t no way, no how, I would share that with you, anyway.
As for the rest of you, as long as you’re okay with not being in my will, I’ll share with you that life is as peachy as it can be, given the circumstances of the pandemic. Inigo is still hanging in there nearly three years after his diagnosis with an inoperable testicular tumor. He’s such a good boy.
Me, I sit on my ass a lot. I am moving out of my current apartment building and into a new one because I am tired of walls, floors, and ceilings that are so thin I can hear my upstairs neighbor’s pee hit the toilet bowl. I’m waiting for next year to get a colonoscopy because they approved capsules that you take instead of drinking 9 million gallions of aquarium water. I voted for Biden because of course I did. And I have begun eating Atomic Fire Balls again, which gives me all kinds of regret yet I keep doing it because the pain is sharpest pleasure, and I like that. Do you like that, too? I hope so. It could be something we share together, you and I. Something beautiful. Tell me, can you see me? Can you feel me? Can you feel the fire and ice of my breath on your neck? Don’t be afraid. I am all around you. I am everywhere. I am your fate. This won’t hurt a bit.