Thumbprint to the First Knuckle

There is an entire list of people I want to punch, a majority of which on my elder sister's behalf, because she's too ridiculously nice to ever do so. Of course, I could very well suffer terrible consequences, "physical assault" charges or whatever, but I swear, one day I will just get in a car, drive from work place to house to apartment to park, and punch these people all in a row.

My sister and I have an interesting relationship, I think. I'll do something or ignore her or say something to get her mad at me, and then for the majority of the day we'll skirt around each other, until tomorrow, when we end up happy again.

(We both suck at holding grudges)

But sometimes when we're in the midst of a fight, something else will happen.

She'll get sad.

Or upset or depressed and will quietly slink off into her room and cry.

And I know that nothing I do can help, because A, I'm the little sister. Even if she's not conscious of it, she will always believe that she is smarter then me, knows more then me, is wiser then me. And admittedly, in some cases, she is. But a comforting fool is no better then being alone, and nothing I say or do will help cheer her up. And of course B, She's still mad at me for whatever reason.

So I'll send my mom in.

Or text her to bring my sister's favorite Starbucks.

Or set up Nutella and pretzels.

And I feel like complete and utter crap when I sit at the computer and hear her sobbing in the shower, because I know that I can do absolutely nothing to make things even remotely better for her. Which is whys sometimes, for a fleeting second, I wish I was an only child.

Because for me, the worst part of it is not being able to make things better.

She always either flinches away from my hugs, or "tolerates" them. She never relaxes into them. They're never comforting for her.

Whenever I ask her quietly what's wrong, she'll put up a cheery facade. And that kills me, because we both know full well that we both know there is something terrible going on, and for God's sake why? Why can't she just tell me what's wrong, without a plastic smile?

And I can try and comfort her as much as I want, but that's all pointless, because the second I turn away she's sobbing all over again.

And then I start crying; frustrated and hopeless and feeling pathetic, because I can't even comfort my own sister for God's sake.

I hate it.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

So that's why I offer to punch people for her.

The club's moronic president.

Her stupid boss.

The back-stabbing role model.

And I'm serious. I mean, I'm a tiny girl, but God dammit, I will take lessons on self-defense or whatever just so I can learn how to pack a punch and go break the noses of every last one of these assholes who dare reduce my sister, my beautiful, smart, creative, fun sister to tears. Because she deserves so much more, so, so much more then heart break and tears and sleepless nights.

But I know I'll never be able to punch them.

And I know I'll never actually be able to comfort my sister.

And that all I really can do is write to a blog that no one reads.