I've pinpointed the source of my blues. I've been reading a Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for my book club and it's painfully reminding me that I haven't talked to my little brother since Christmas and I miss him terribly. Since my mother doesn't answer her phone or give him my letters, my sister is supposed to call me when she spends time with him; but she doesn't. Sometimes I feel like living my life for me is the best thing I can do for him because I'm setting a good example. And other times, when I go months without hearing his sweet little voice, I want to abandon my entire life on the West Coast to be near him. But I probably wouldn't see him any more than I do now because of the tyranical psychopath that has control over him. I can't send him money because she'll spend it. I don't want to send him toys because he gets bored with them so quickly, he is only nine after all. So I write him letters and send them to my sister's house, hoping that they reach him. Everyone cross your fingers that I'll make contact soon.