I Am The Year 2021 And The Big Expectations Are Giving Me Anxiety
I never wanted to be a year.
When I was given the job of being Gregory 2021 AD, the burden was already huge. I come from a long family of successful years. My Grandpa was Gregory 2000. The New Millennium. Everyone thought the world would end, but Pa proved them wrong.
To be frank, I never really wanted to be a year. I was pressured into the family business. I was happy to be a long weekend — maybe Thanksgiving or, at a stretch, the month of May. But a whole year? That is so much pressure. 365 days of non-stop focus.
I wasn’t prepared for the shit show I would inherit. I mean, having to follow my big brother, Gregory 2020? C’mon. Everyone expects me to be the best year ever. A vaccine. A new president. No celebrity deaths.
Brother 2020 was angry, disorganized, and unpredictable. He had a massive chip on his shoulder. His vengeance knew no bounds. I bet he did everything just to spite me, just like how he used to shove my face in the dirt when we were kids.
I know the handover is going to be just awful. Who knows if he’ll even give me a proper one? Maybe he won’t accept that his time is over. Maybe he’ll ask for a redo. He does love the spotlight. How the hell am I supposed to handle that? They don’t teach you that…
