I've been trying to write this for weeks, but I just haven't had the time to decompress like this requires. Technically, I have even less time to do this now, since I have another hour of video that needs to be resynced, and there's a short film that really needs the shit edited out of it. But I'm hoping that talking to you will help me clear my head so I can concentrate on what needs to be done.

I'm still so, so mad that you are gone. There's an annoying voice in my head that asks me all day — and every day— if I know that you're dead, if I know I'll never see you again. I had hoped, now that nearly six months have gone by, that it would be gone already. At this point, I think I have to accept that it may not ever leave me.

And there is so much stuff that it would be handy to have you around for, like to ask you to talk to our sister. There's something not good brewing with her, and she's not talking about it. At least not to me or to any of the people I know that want to help her. I know I can't be her parent, and maybe you talking to her wouldn't do anything anyway— she's always been one to just do what she's going to do no matter what you say to her. But, at least I'd have one more person to talk about this shit with that doesn't need an hour of explanation just to understand why I'm worried. And we definitely have some stuff that we need to catch up on. You know that, though. I haven't written to you or about you in like 4 months. And that past 6 months have been hard in a way that has gotten difficult to discuss. As mom would say, it never rains but pours.

And I know I can't keep pretending that conversation with you was always easy and that you weren't a huge pain in the ass sometimes. But that's what family is, right? The people who drive you crazy, but you keep talking to them anyway.

I miss you, you tremendous douchenozzle.