DECEMBER 2021.

I don’t know what I love more about December. The collective depressing tone amidst the cheery chaos of champagne, tacky themed decor, and Santa hats. Or, picking away at the left over charcuterie platters the next morning after a party, hungover, shaking in your friends couch blanket, all while avoiding the warm melted goat cheese. Both however, make me feel included and seen, with casual alcoholism at an all time high and even encouraged in most settings. All those issues that bubbled up over the 365 days to be pushed aside until January 1st, with Instagram promises to be better next year.

A good thing about December is that it doesn’t get light out in the mornings until around 8AM. You are able to party guilt-free late into the wee cold hours of the winter night and not be bombarded by the birds singing “crack heads” right at 7AM. Something I took advantage of too many times this past month. So was I surprised when I caught Covid’s remix, Omicron? No. Did I still cry on the phone to my mom it was all my fault for going out all month? Yes.

Once again, my life fell apart in a Cactus Club. As we sipped on double tall sunset sodas our phones started to buzz with the news that we probably had Covid. The table fell silent and slowly disremembered as we paid and ran to the car to drive to the closest testing site.

My relationship with COVID-19 hasn’t been linear, as I am sure I speak for everyone else as well. March 2020 you could catch me reaming out a friend for having another friend over, or not even letting my own sister in my house to use the washroom during one of our typical 6 feet lawn hang outs. As the cases varied, so did my perspective. I soon caught myself breaking the rules and having to apologize to my friends I had months earlier reamed out to now join their illegal hang outs. Luckily, they welcomed me back with open arms, and I just now have to deal with the teasing for my past hard ass self.

When my rapid test went to positive within seconds (lol) I found myself laughing as I thumb gunned a Hey Yall. It was fate. You can only run your mouth for for so long.

I will take a second to acknowledge my privilege as a healthy young person. I am a fit and healthy 26 year old who would more than likely survive the positive test and be able to quarantine comfortably and safely inside my warm home. I understand that Covid is serious and not everyone is able to say the same and the endless stress and pain it has caused some.

However, I probably deserved this in some sick and twisted way and after a month of debauchery, it was probably wise for my own mental health I was barred to my East Van apartment. As I cried to my mom on the phone I can only imagine on the other side of the line there was a small tint of “told you so”.

I write this to you 3 days fresh out of quarantine, and who knows where I got it from. Could have been the rave I attended days prior underneath the East Van sign that resembled the back rooms on Ketamine. Or maybe the club birthday cake make out between 4 of us friends. The options are endless, and you can go ahead and pick your poison. But we don’t have time for that, because its almost 2022 and we need to let Instagram know how much better we’re going to be in less than 24 hours.