Today, three essays in one. I wrote it. Then I rewrote it – twice.
Blame 2020, our unprecedented, deadly, miserable, impossible, constricting, discouraging, lost and sucky year.
Monday, I wrote about sheltering in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, awaiting the double punch of Tropical Storm Marco and Hurricane Laura. Louisiana State University, where I work, had suspended classes.
Blame 2020, I wrote.
Then Marco fizzled. Instead of tropical-storm punch, it delivered spotty clouds against a sunny blue sky. The university opened Tuesday.
I sat down late Tuesday afternoon to rewrite to a new theme: Little Marco had sucker-punched 2020. A blessing!
Before I’d finished, an LSU text alert: Closed again Wednesday, awaiting Laura, now boosted to a Category 4 hurricane.
And we’re back to 2020 as malevolent hooligan.
Hooligans don’t cause natural disasters. Still, I blame this hooligan. Because of pandemic, every hurricane, wildfire, derecho, tornado, mudslide, storm surge, drought and heat wave strikes an already reeling victim. We’re falling, backward, into quicksand, with no footing and some days little emotional reserve.
I’m done with 2020. If only it were done with us.
