Whine. Rinse. Repeat.

Hmph. If resolutions are supposed to be challenges, then I am certain I picked the right one. Of many items I have on the list, one is to be the "highest version of myself" that I can be. Obviously, what I meant was that I wanted to be a kinder, gentler, more forgiving version of myself. But after today's events, I'm left to wonder if I shouldn't have just taken that resolution at face value, driven out to Folly Beach, bought some pot and smoked myself stupid.

Of course, there are a few problems with that solution as well, I supposed. One being that the sale and purchase and use of marijuana is illegal, the second being that dope and I don't get along very well. I discovered this in my college years, when a certain pattern developed: smoke pot + laughter = feels good while smoking it. The rest of that equation, however, is smoke pot + laughter + feels good while smoking = extremely volatile and snappish person the next day. Dope and my mental condition don't really mesh.

Speaking of dope, dopes and idiots (Oh, we weren't speaking of idiots, were we?), the "highest version" of myself did not appear today during a discussion with my brother regarding my sister. You remember that sister? You know, the very childish, irresponsible sister who was about to have a baby and I was frantically wondering how she was going to manage? Remember her?

Well, she gave birth to a precious girl almost a year ago and I just couldn't help gushing over her. She turned me into this crazy Auntie Geyser of Looooove. I want to give her so much. Apparently, though, I haven't given her enough.

As my brother delivered the news, I inhaled, slowly, deeply through my nose. . .extending my belly to fully take in the air. Hold the breath. Exhale. Whooosh. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. "Are you being the best person you can be? Are your thoughts serving a higher purpose?" Inhale. Exhale. "Are you being the best person you can be? Let this anger flow through you and pass out of your heart. Are you being the highest. . .SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SCREW YOU, HIGHER PERSON! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP."

As my brother's tale was winding down with my sister's quote of "I mean, I'm surprised that no one bought her.  ." hung in the air, I drew in one more deep breath and exhaled with a scream, quite possibly rupturing my brother's ear drum.

I then rattled off an itemized list of purchases made this holiday season, including, but not limited to, items for not only my niece, but my sister as well. I self-righteously yammered on about how I'd had her photos taken this year - not some shitty, grainy Olan Mills (my apologies to anyone who loves, works for or knows anyone who ever had an Olan Mills photo taken) photos, but photographs taken by a wonderful person with an amazing talent. I bitched about the fact that, at 26, that pain in the ass still counts presents and makes "pouty face" when someone has gotten more than she has. . .and NOW she's transferring that behavior to her teeny, tiny child who won't ever know how many (or how few?!?) presents she did or didn't get on her first Christmas on earth. My little niece won't have a clue how many presents she received this Christmas. . .unless my sister tells her. And knowing my sister, she probably will.

I was roaring and I wasn't finished. I then proceeded to shriek about how much, just how very much, my mother and father (who are having extreme financial problems of their own, thankyouverymuch) had given her throughout the entire year. I actually stomped my feet when recalling that my mother actually felt bad that she couldn't afford the fancy-f**king car seat my sister wanted.  I think it turned into a car seat, some other version of the car seat, a robot and then a car she could drive off to college or some such shit. (Never having had a baby of my own, I don't understand anything about the magic of car seats. . .other than at the prices listed on them, they SHOULD turn into robots and/or cars.) I thought it funny that my mother was sad about this. . .considering that my sister neither has an AUTOMOBILE or a DRIVER'S LICENSE.

And somehow, just somehow we, as a family, had not given that child enough for Christmas .We gave her clothes, toys, more clothes and more clothes. What was I missing? What were we supposed to have given her on this very special Christmas? A parade? Gold? Frankinscense? Myrrh? 

I didn't think so.

And then I heard it.

My brother.

Chuckling.

And then laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed at my lunacy. 

And when he could finally breathe again, he said "I knew I could count on you to somehow make this funny." I laughed, and agreed, of course. We talked about our New Year's festivities and other pleasantries and then said our goodbyes.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd done something wrong. I was a little peeved at my brother for sharing that information with me when he knew that I would react the way I did. And I was peeved at myself for falling into an old trap. No, he didn't conspire with anyone to get me to break one of my resolutions. He didn't even know that I'd made it. We were just. . .doing what we always do. Sharing our experiences with a sister that we desperately love and even more desperately want to like. . .but it's a "like" we can't ever seem to fully develop. We do what we always do. . .when she does what she always does.

And I know that the ugly version of me, standing there in my living room with spit flying, wasn't my "highest self." It might've been my "highest-self-righteous self," but it wasn't the kinder, more loving person I'd envisioned at the start of this new year. It's the same, worn-out character that I've been playing year in, year out, ever since my sister learned to manipulate. . .err. . .speak.

So, I need to make amends to my higher self. I need to ask for her forgiveness. And I'm sure she will forgive me as easily as you or I breathe, because that's the kind of person she is. I need to ask her how to develop approaches to handling obstacles. . .like rude people or my sister's behavior. . .and beg her to teach me how to maintain the stillness of peace in my heart, even when people are in my face acting like assholes. Because, let's face it, my sister's attitude, crappy as it may be, is not going to be the worst attitude I face in my life. I've spent thirty-something years on this planet and I'm only now getting the tiniest understanding of who I really want to be. And I can tell you who I don't want to be: someone who stomps and screams as if the world is on fire, just because her little sister counted presents. . .on Christmas. . .again. . .for the 26th year in a row.

xoxo