Dear Friends And Family: My 2020 Holiday Letter Is A Bit Different This Year

by Amy Axelson
Originally Published: 

Dear Friends and Family,

Mark and I are writing this letter while little Liza tries to finish her final book in her beloved Dragon book series, Meredith is playing her piano exercises over and over and over … and Terrence is engineering his latest cardboard zero emission automobile .

Just fucking with you.

As the holiday season approaches, I just wanted to let you know that we are all still alive. Which in 2020 standards is considered “thriving.” We hope you are thriving too. Remember that parent who posted that their children were “thriving” during remote learning? Yeah. Me too. I had the post enlarged and printed out in color and I’m using it for target practice in my backyard. It’s my go-to meditation. I lost my contract with my agent and now I’m an at-home remote learning administrator for my children.

You know, at first I was like oh … this is horrible … they won’t have all the experiences I had in first, second, and third grade. Then I thought … wait a minute … can you imagine a world where you didn’t have to live your entire life repairing the scars from first, second, and third grade? So yeah. That’s where I’m at with it.

Is it the same experience? No. I love PTA meetings on Zoom because I can turn off my camera and give Shelly the middle finger she deserves in real time. Sorry my Instagram account has gone dark lately, my kids will only make drawings and sculptures of gun battles and have dug up my backyard trying to dig to another side of the world. Think Escape from Alcatraz. My youngest is the Bird Man.


Getty Images/Westend61

Mark was promoted to supervisor this year, so he now oversees a team of seven people. He really likes it. He says he has a good crew, and that makes all the difference. That has made me realize that no matter what I do, I’m not a man and nothing fucking matters so … yeah. I was writing grants for area non-profits but you know … none of those places can even exist anymore … so … yeah. I’m going to burn my Hamilton tickets tonight by the fire to stay warm.

Oh, and if you send me any type of Holiday Letter bragging about your trip to Fiji or how you were able to participate in a social movement that I was too paralyzed with the realization that it wasn’t all about me this time to participate in, or if you so much as send me a professionally done family photo, I will personally come to your house, fuck your husband and burn down your color-coded organized Instagramable garage. Send me alcohol and weed, please.

We wish you all a beautiful holiday season filled with love and laughter! Just kidding. If you get this and you are reading this my new address is: 45 Fuck It All Way, I’m Done in 21, New Mexico 45673. See you there.



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