My youngest sister is twenty. There are seven years between us, but some days (like today) it feels like more. It feels like forty.

She’s been through a lot lately, some of which is her own doing. I’ve been supportive, keeping my mouth closed and offering love instead of criticism, even when criticism is weighing heavily on my mind. I was far from perfect when I was twenty, I remind myself, when the urge to lecture strikes.

I called my grandmother’s house (where she’s been staying) tonight, and she suggested I come down. Our brother (age sixteen) was there, too, and she thought we could all hang out together. We rarely get the chance, so I said I’d be down after a quick shower.

When I got there, they were gone – evidently driving around to help my niece fall asleep. I opted to wait, smothering my annoyance that she didn’t let me know they were going to take off. As I was waiting, my grandma pipes up with, “You’re not parked in her spot, are you? She’ll need to park there to carry the baby in…”

I was getting crankier by the second. I decided to take off, to drive to the neighboring town where my other sister lives and vent my frustration. I forgot that her husband has Tuesday nights off until I was nearly there, and I didn’t want to interrupt whatever quality time they were having (a little thing I like to call consideration), so I came back.

As I pulled onto my grandma’s street, I saw my youngest sister’s car and slowed, amazed that she still hadn’t gone home. When she saw my car she hit the gas and drove recklessly away, obviously in a big-ass hurry.

Well. I guess she didn’t want to see me after all? Which is fine. I just wish she’d had the balls to call and say she changed her mind, instead of acting like a goddamn toddler about the whole thing. I felt snubbed. I hate getting my feelings hurt, especially by her, since I am so frequently going out of my way to avoid hurting her stupid feelings.

I just need to accept the fact that she only ever wants to see me when she needs or wants something, and that otherwise I’m not important to her. Great, I think, and I tell myself that from now on when she needs something or makes a hasty demand, I’ll bring up this incident and colorfully tell her to go to hell.

Except that I won’t. I’m such a sucker.

I haven’t had a lot of time for blogging lately. Honestly, I haven’t had the inclination, either. A lot of personal problems things are swimming around in my head, cramming into each other and then backing up and causing blockages, and really the whole mess is like a gigantic traffic jam. We’re talking Los Angeles, the freeway, 7:00 A.M.

I’ve been stressed and moody and generally not in the way of plunking myself down here and being able to successfully write anything at all. (For verification, see this post).

Anyway, I’m holding onto hope that I was adopted (er…more than the one time) and that I can just shake my head and look clueless when people ask intrusive questions that are, let’s face it, NONE of their goddamn business.

Have an ass-kicking Thursday night. I know I will.

I’ve decided I want a puppy – but not just any puppy will do. No, I want a yorkie poo! It’s a terrible name, isn’t it? It’s a cross between a poodle (everyone seems to be crossing poodles these days) and a yorkshire terrier. Why, I ask, couldn’t they call it a ‘yorkle’? Lame, I know, but not as embarrassing as walking around saying ‘Isn’t my new yorkie poo so cute?’, which is probably only topped by, ‘Isn’t my cockapoo so adorable’?

Anyway, a couple of months ago my sister decided I need a dog. More importantly, she decided she intends to get one for me. I think she thinks dog-owning will be a helpful tool in readying me for eventual child-ownership. Hope springs eternal, as they say.

But I do want a dog, desperately. I googled the yorkie poo because it was her suggestion and I have an extreme dislike of anything poodle related so I was immediately suspicious, but she assured me that the only common trait this particular cross-breed shares with poodles is an entire lack of shedding. Which would be ideal, really. When I saw the photos my road-blocked heart exploded in a mass of nuts and bolts, and was left wide open and quivering in anticipation.

Luna will just have to learn to live with it.

She has a horrible black eye – in fact, mostly one half of her face is black and faintly green. My heart clenches when I see it. Not because of the bruises, but because I can tell when I look in her eyes that her spirit is broken.

He’s in jail, again. Hopefully to stay. I wish I could kill him with my bare hands. I wish I could visit the pain onto him that he’s spread to so many other people, without ending up in jail myself. I hate him. I don’t even try not to anymore, I embrace it. He deserves more than my hate.

I believe she’ll be healthy again. I have to, because I love her. I believe she’ll find her feet, and build a safe and loving home for her daughter. I believe she’s much smarter than she gives herself credit for. I believe she deserves a happy ending.

For me, 2008 dragged on…and on…and ON, with no real successes or notable moments in my life. Not to sound all dreary on you, because I’m glad – or maybe relieved is a more appropriate word – that 2009 is finally here. I have high hopes and renewed ambitions, besides which I’ve always liked the number 9 and considered it vaguely lucky. I believe things are going to be great this year, and that’s that.

I don’t make resolutions, but I did quit coffee a few days ago. My stomach started rebelling, fighting against the two or three pots I normally pour into it on a daily basis, and the searing chest pains aren’t worth that delicious little zip of caffeine. I did buy Excedrin for the inevitable headaches, which is luckily packed with caffeine but hopefully won’t cause my stomach acid to melt away my esophagus.

I also bought an AM PM Yoga workout video, which sat stationary on the edge of my desk for about two weeks until tonight, when I finally picked it up, examined it, tore off the protective plastic and set it back on the corner of the desk. Maybe in another week or so I’ll muster the courage to be willingly humiliated as I try – and likely fail – to contort my stubborn, inflexible body into some cartoon version of downward facing dog.

Speaking of shopping, I’ve been on an unstoppable shopping craze ever since January 1st. I’m not usually the most responsible shopper anyway, but whoa boy is 2009 unleashing my inner closet monster. I’ve been to Crate & Barrel to raid their after-Christmas sales. I’ve been to amazon to supply myself with endless entertainment for the long nights at work. And today I just couldn’t stop myself from stopping by the Victoria’s Secret web page. I have only three words in my defense: SEMI ANNUAL SALE. Where I went a little pajama crazy, because I do love sexy and nicely matching sleepwear.

Also in my defense? I was trapped inside all day going stir-crazy, due to whatever schizophrenia Jack Frost is clearly experiencing. Blizzards? Really? And we can’t have a blizzard big enough to bury cars and small buildings without it being thirty degrees below zero, now can we? So I was stranded at my house, where there was really no hope in hell of getting out of the driveway. I only made it to work because one of the officers came by in his fancy pickup (complete with four wheel drive) to get me, and even he had to wait by the highway. When I stepped outside, I was up to my thighs in snow. My thighs! I had snow in my boots and socks and melting into little beads of ice around my ankles.

But I made it to work where it’s nice and toasty, because I’m a lot less thrifty with the county heating bill than with my own.