Recently I decided to get Netflicks (which, by the way, I obviously was sleeping on because I think it’s the best thing ever. Well, not the best thing, but you know what I mean). I only got it about a week and a half ago, and I have the “one at a time” plan, but I figured this would be a way for me to catch up on movies everyone else has seen. Contrary to popular belief, I actually enjoy watching movies. It just depends on which type, and I like watching them at home.

Anyway, today I watched “In Her Shoes” and it was decently entertaining. I think I know at least one person in blogland that would say it was stupid, but it really doesn’t take much for me to be entertained. The story was about two vastly different sisters and it made me think about my sister. My sister and I are extremely different. She is 8 years older than me but the differences are much greater than the distance in age. Half the time I don’t think we have a thing on earth in common other than our parents. I know people of all ages that I enjoy and have much to share with them no matter what. With my sister, we have nothing to talk about. Well, I take that back. She enjoys talking about herself, and when I’m done listening to her talk about herself, we have nothing else to talk about. She has never really seemed interested in what I do, so I don’t force it on her. I just listen, comment, try to offer objective advice, and then the conversation is over. What seems to be animosity toward me is some anger and frustration that began for her before I was born. As the story goes, when I was born into an already dysfunctional family, my sister, being a little girl who was an only child for nearly 8 years, with this dysfunctional family, was probably not helped in terms of adjusting to being a sibling and sharing her crazy parents with another person. She never hated me. We love each other to death. However, love and like are two very different things.  She was always seemed extremely jealous and that never went away. She did crazy things to try to get attention, but that attention was negative, resulting in punishment. I didn’t do those same crazy things, and as a result, was not punished. She always says things like, “They loved you more than me” or “They gave you opportunities they didn’t give me” or “She hates my children.”  She is me, by the way, in case you didn’t catch that she says this TO others about me, like I’ve ever said that. This sentiment is totally different from the two previous regarding my parent’s feelings.  I have never said or acted like I didn’t adore my nephews, but I think she sometimes says stuff to see if I will refute it, therefore making her feel better. To me, it’s like the “‘I look so fat in this dress’, Oh God I hope he says that I don’t; That would make me feel so much better about myself” thing.  I realize that after 28 years, her problem with me no longer is about me. It took a long time for me to realize that. I was always wondering what I did to make her think that, and I always wondered why our recollection of the same events were always so much different. At the end of the day, I will never know what it is like for her to be her. I certainly love her and wish that we could be close. I just wish she’d move past her anger.