There's been less death, destruction, and chaos than I thought there would be, this late in this wretched year. Not to say what did come was inconsequential. Just not as nasty as it could have. And for that, I'm grateful.
Over the years, I've spent this holiday in a war zone, in the gulf of Oman, and working late for minimum wage. This year I'm spending it with the other denizens of the Outpost, with family and loved ones available through any screen I care to use, instead of waiting in line with the dozen other fucks for old workstations still running on XP. And for that I'm grateful.
I'm fed, clothed, shoed, sheltered, entertained, and loved. And for that I'm grateful.
I live in a country full of third option seeking, loophole-exploiting, fuck-you-I-won't-do-what-you-tell-me-bellowing fuckers as compassionate and selfless as they are ambitious and audacious. Not exactly the kind of attitudes effective in mitigating the spread of a pandemic, but exactly the kinds of attitudes that will cause those who survive to recover to thrive. And for that I'm grateful.
I'm already auditioning again as well as writing my second book with more planned. And for that I'm grateful.
Celebrate safe, wear your masks if you need to be around people you don't live with, a clean test is no excuse to stop taking other precautions, and if a local authority wants you to narc on who's gathering, give the authoritarian stooge an extra fuck you from me.
You're still out there. And for that I'm grateful.