I wonder if your soul is still dispossessed
This was a strange Rosh Hashanah and it feels like a stranger Yom Kippur. Last year it was the eve of my birthday, which I would spend at two different museums before meeting my family after sunset for break-fast. This year I lit the yahrzeit candle we bought six months ago when we were what we then called apocalypse-shopping: it burns for the dead whose names we remember, whose names we don't know. Year after year now, I return to the story of the prayer and the fire and the place in the forest, because all we can do these days is tell the story; it has to be enough. And if it isn't, we tell it anyway.

This doesn't feel like a real year at all.
I'm not even having a birthday this year. As far as I'm concerned this is March Day 211.* I can have two next year, or whenever we finally get back to real time.
*My birthday is not in March.
Re: This doesn't feel like a real year at all.
Yes. It already felt like the wrong timeline, but now it feels like the writers have just stopped trying.
As far as I'm concerned this is March Day 211.
I have been trying to make a point of acknowledging the year no matter what it is like because I have had too many years that vanished already, but it is very difficult to observe a holiday that is supposed to place you outside of time when time has felt broken for six months and counting.
I like your birthday plan.
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"It's a sad song (It's a sad song!) / It's a sad tale, it's a tragedy / It's a sad song (It's a sad song!) / We're gonna sing it anyway"
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If you're choosing that allusion, I would prefer this to be the year the story changes.
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Stories always change. They do rhyme, though.
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*hugs*