Dear Pandemic, it's almost time to break up, and I'm a little sad. I'll miss not having to wear pants, but once we're all vaccinated, it will be time to bid farewell.

Dear Pandemic, It’s Not You, It’s Me (Well, It’s Kind of You Too)

Dear Pandemic, it's almost time to break up, and I'm a little sad. I'll miss not having to wear pants, but once we're all vaccinated, it will be time to bid farewell.

By Amy Axelson

Dear Pandemic,

This letter is very difficult to write. We have been together since March and in the grand scheme of things it’s only been about nine months. It really feels like much much longer than that. Like ten years. This journey has been filled with ups and downs but primarily panic. The forty-five minute lines outside of grocery stores, the Purell, the masks, and of course, the toilet paper. You have had such an impact on our lives and the world.

This time was going to come eventually and now that it has, we need to think about our lives after the vaccine. We were together during the lockdowns, the protests, the curfews and school closures. We’ve worked through this at home, but you have to have known this wasn’t forever. These last couple of weeks have been tough. I wasn’t sure it was certain, but it looks like the vaccine is going to end this. It looks like we are over.   

I know that this relationship has become routine. We have a pretty well established working at home and remote situation that has become so dysfunctional I’m beginning to enjoy it. I am enjoying being completely cut off and not talking to anyone. I no longer need to dye my hair, wear new clothes or wear pants at the drive thru. I’ve become comfortable with this Utopia of curbside pickup and delivery but this excitement can’t last.

The best days are behind us. I loved your focus on social justice and dedication to making this the worst election cycle in modern history. You have matured and grown into a complete influencer lifestyle. You have your own line of masks, loungewear and funeral homes. The persistence and dedication you have shown has been global. I’m not going to lie, your handling of this year’s Burning Man was admirable. You are a mature pandemic who relates to people and the world. I mean, you were probably right about Thanksgiving this year. Nobody needed to endure dinner with Uncle Larry, not after he went to that rally.  You’re a formidable pandemic no matter how much they try and downplay you. I know some people thought you were over after your big splash in New York but that world tour really showed everyone who was still on top. You stopped people from gathering in Times Square and I’m really happy I have been here to see all of your societal transformation, but I think it’s time to part ways by getting a vaccine as I feel the pull to see a live performance of Hamilton. In person.

I want you to be happy and I really hope you find a nice bat or lab that will love you more and respect you more than I do. I am sorry that I never quite “got” you, even though I was convinced about three times a week that I was infected with you. You have made me a more frequent hand-washer and I thank you for that.

I know it sounds cliche but I hope after this we can stay friends, maybe a Zoom call. I will miss all the Netflix and not having to commute everyday. I want to look past the death and despair and maybe we can do a nice memorial sometime.  I don’t want to forget the time we spent together, but I respect your decision to pretend 2020 didn’t even happen. I know that will be hard. Things will never be the same after you. I support any decision you make to move on. Thank you for everything you taught me, especially that Jeffrey Toobin has a small penis.





About the Author

Amy Axelson is a director and writer, known for Why We Wax (2008). The award winning short documentary which she was co-producer, director and writer on Why We Wax was the darling of the 2007/2008 film festival circuit and played on Current TV. Ms. Axelson has worked on productions in New York and across the country for companies such as Washington National Opera in Washington, D.C., Michigan Opera Theatre in Detroit, San Francisco Lyric Opera, Pine Mountain Music Festival, New York Chamber Opera and Dicapo Opera.