I don't want to write, but I feel like I need to.

My brother took a swing at me today. I hit him back. Frank B broke it up.

I wish I'd hit him harder. I wish I hadn't blocked first, held his arms first, backed off when the fight seemed to be splitting up (he didn't). I wish I'd made him bleed.

I think about it now, about hitting him, and about how it felt... good. He's so evil. He's so cruel. It seems as though he lives his life solely to make mine miserable.

I fired him. Of course. Some things will be hard without him. And so many, many things will be so much easier.

I think he wants me to hate him. I think he's wanted it for a long time.

A part of me does.

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I broke up with M. last night. I did it via an email longer than the entire Wall Street Journal on a Saturday. There was a lot in it... chronology, calling her on her shit, calling out her husband, calling me on my own.

It hurts to feel her absence.

I suppose I could just copy/paste the whole thing. Maybe later. For now, suffice it to say that I insisted that she no longer live in the same home with her (supposedly ex) husband. Ironically, she's been less my girl since we were "outted" and they filed paperwork. I want to believe that she just needs a little time to sort it out, but I had to take a stand. Doormats don't generally get the girl.

I hope I can hold on to this feeling of love without slipping into malaise. It feels so great.

No. Scratch that. I hope she shows up on my doorstep.

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