Homecoming

Everyone who knows me, or follows me on my blog on a regular basis, knows that my brother and I do not quite get along so well. Yes, we are civil to each other, but we do not really talk to each other or share much, if anything. He finds me annoying, and I find him, well, insufferable. So when he moved out into his "own" apartment six months ago, I was in heaven. I felt like I was on Cloud Nine. And it has been great, for everyone. Except for the twice a month (or more) he comes home.

Every other week my brother comes in on Sunday morning, goes to an appointment, and then returns to his apartment (up until recently, my mom drove him back). Occasionally though, he'll come in on Saturday night and spend the night. I hate that. I absolutely hate it. In fact, I dread it. Why? Because it means I have to deal with my brother, hear him lecture my mom and me on one thing or another, have him contradict everything we say because he has to be right (if we said the sky was blue, he would say it's orange, and no, I am not kidding), and other things that make him impossible to deal with. It drives me up the wall and frustrates me to no end.

During these weekends, I have taken to locking myself in my room when he comes home, or going out if I can (which is hard, since Saturday night is "his" night for the car; I thought we were too old for this by now). Basically, I avoid him. However, that is difficult when he comes in for longer than one night, like he did this past weekend. He came in on Friday and stayed until Sunday. As much I would have liked, I could not lock myself in my room all weekend. I had Shabbos dinner and lunch with him and my mom, in which most of the time I said nothing. Once it was over, instead of joining my mom in the living room and keeping her company for awhile like I usually do, I went straight into my room and stayed there. Saturday night I got lucky-I babysat for my cousins, so I was able to get out of the house and away from him. And Sunday, well I usually sleep late, and by the time I wake up and am dressed, he is pretty much gone, so I do not really see him on Sunday.

But still, just those two meals, and whatever other interaction I may have with him over those weekends (and in some cases, holidays as he likes to try and come home for them), are awful. I dread those weekends so much, that it literally puts me in a bad mood the whole time he is here. Once he leaves though, all that changes. My mood improves and I am much happier. If I could do a happy dance, I would. In fact, I think I have a few times.

My brother is not an easy person to live with, and the older he got, the harder it became and the harder he became to deal with. Now that he has moved out and I do not see or interact with him on a daily basis, we do get along a bit better, but it does not necessarily mean that he is easier to deal with. He is still the same person, still just as hard to deal with, and his long weekend or holiday stays just enforce that. I know that this will not change any time soon, nor will he, if at all. So, I until I move out, this is just something I am going to have live with and try to cope with on my own. If anyone needs to reach me every other weekend, I will be in my room, hiding.