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It’s been a year and a half since my sister broke up with me, and I’ve done very little toward correcting the flaws she decided were so egregious that the only solution was to Never Speak To Me Again. That’s not to say I haven’t thought about the errors of my way. Thinking and doing are two entirely different things. My sister neglected to cite my laziness as a major problem, but surely that is at the root of my inaction.

Making the list were some pretty bad things: I am a bitch (true), I am sarcastic (also true), and I use big words (sadly, also very much true). These are the kind of horrible traits that paralyze someone seeking a little self-analysis. Where do I start, I wondered?

It seems like I could cure the bitch thing with very little effort, but will that just cause other problems? You know how you play that game where you stack the pieces of wood and then start pulling them out. The person who knocks over the entire structure loses – and it all it takes is one wrong decision or wobbly hands. Is losing my bitchiness the right life choice for me at this time?

And if I’m not a bitch, what am I? I worry that suddenly being nice to everyone would be suspicious. I wouldn’t trust someone who is always sunshine and light. I’d think she’d found religion, and that’s clearly not the look-and-feel I’m going for.

The sarcasm? I’d say it’s a defense mechanism, and probably in a way it is, but mostly it’s just my sense of humor. I don’t take much in this world seriously and have no patience for stupidity (see also: Being a Bitch, Me). Look, I’m never going to be tall, thin, or beautiful. I do have brains. At least for now.

I realize my sarcasm can be cruel and sometimes I go over the line. We all go over the line. If I lose the bitchiness and sarcasm simultaneously (or at least within a noticeable period of time), what will be left? Will I even be me anymore? Will my friends still talk to me?

There would have to be a lot of changes in my life, great and small. I’d have to change my work; though largely based on sarcasm, it has a healthy dose of bitch in it. I’d have to change my friends; I may not the fastest or funniest in the crowd, but I do hold my own. I’d have to change my music, my reading, and even my television. Though it’s not always overt, they surely contribute to my dyspeptic worldview.

I did, I confess, take a token stab at correcting the big words problem. In a moment where I was clearly feeling distraught, I confessed the sordid details of the break-up to a friend. For a long time after, whenever I crossed the line, he’s shake his head and say, “There you go again, using those big words.”

It was then that I realized I have no control over my vocabulary. I cannot stop myself when a multi-syllabic word escapes. It sounds like I’m bragging, but I’m not. I simply don’t know what constitutes a big word. It seems so relativistic, and my sister is a black-and-white world person. See my problem?

Of course, there’s a bigger problem – what if I do all this changing and my sister doesn’t want me back? Not that I’m trying to win her back, but there’s a chance that her problems with me are really not my problem. I may be an innocent bystander. Well, mostly innocent. Somewhat innocent. Kind of innocent. When she said, “You know we’ve never really gotten along anyway”, was that all my doing? I cannot believe that’s true.

I don’t think I like the idea of bowing and scraping to her view of what I should be. I have spent a long time becoming who I am, and I don’t see her sitting down, doing a lot of self-reflection. I don’t see her saying, “You know, you’re right, I should take responsibility for my decisions rather than acting like it’s your fault that I made a mistake.” I don’t see her admitting that she’s unhappy and all the changing on my part isn’t going to heal her marriage or make her job better or help her achieve her lost goals. I could give up all words over three syllables, and that won’t make a bit of difference in her life.

Everyone is afraid of my sister, but not me. They don’t want to cross her, to make her mad, to get her worked up. I do. Of course, she’s still not speaking to me, so my opportunities are few and far between. But that allows me to rely upon one of my other lousy qualities: I am smarter than she is.