Sanctions are leaving the Russian economy in tatters, and poor Mr. Putin might find it difficult to fund his indiscriminate slaughter of civilians. Granted, it's quite clear that his only desire in life is to treat sovereign nations like spaces on a Milton Bradley board game [everyone: do not explain to Putin that holding Siam locks in the two bonus armies from Australia]. It's also very clear he does not care whether his people can enjoy international sporting events, or fly beyond their borders, or participate in the global economy in any way, or buy luxury goods like, you know, food. All the same, I suspect Mr. Putin might welcome the opportunity to bring some dollars and euros into his treasury; the ruble, after all, might be a couple weeks away from hey-children-make-some-paper-dolls territory. He also really, really, really wants to stick a Russian flag (and perhaps a giant banner of his face) into Kyiv. Unfortunately for Putin, having currency more valuable than used Kleenex and occupying Kyiv would seem to be diametrically opposed goals.

I have a modest proposal.

Putin needs to put himself in the octagonal cage for a pay-per-view MMA bout. Sure, he's 70, but he's a fearsome judo master, and we all know how impressive he looks while riding a horse shirtless (ladies, amiright?). He's just 5'6, and we'll have to cavity search him to ensure he's not trying to sneak in a deadly nerve agent, but Putin's got that crazy dictator willpower, and I'd even suggest a bureaucrat for his opponent: who better to fight than the Mayor of Kyiv? The winner gets all proceeds from PPV sales and control of Kyiv. How about it, Mr. Putin? Call off the cluster and vaccuum bombs; let all those unwillingly conscripted 19-year-olds go home to their mothers. Just fight the Mayor of Kyiv, and if you win, you win the money and the city. I would happily pay $1,000 U.S. dollars to watch the fight, and I'm sure others would, too.

Speaking of which, who is the Mayor of Kyiv, exactly? Let's see... Google... Wikipedia...

Oh. Oh yeah, that'll be fine.

Let's make that PPV buy-in $2,000.

You sit there with your bags packed.

I want to be selfish and tell you not to go but

there's a lump in my throat.

You've only said one sentence to me since you've packed.

Russia has invaded Ukraine.

I don't understand why you have to go, it's not our fight.

Instead of talking I just smile and see you to the door.

I ask you how long you will be gone?

You shrug your shoulders.

I hug you tight and breathe in your sent. I'm afraid

to let you go.

I wave as you drive off. Then slump

to the floor and cry.

You've got this I tell myself over and over.

I clean the house from top to bottom, go for a run, walk the dog and cook dinner.

I can't distract myself at night time when I sleep alone.

The silence is unnerving, a reminder that you haven't called.

I watch the news daily for updates, praying that everything will be ok.

The calls I do get from you are brief. I don't want to

fill our conversations with my worries.

Weeks turn into months as seasons change.

I check my phone every 5 minutes waiting for a message.

Like someone flat-lining, I don't hear from you in days.

Silence fills the house as the light creates shadows across the room.

I go about my day, numb and empty.

My heart aches every day I don't hear from you. It's tearing me apart.

Like a needy child I want to be by your side.

My distractions are no longer working.

Every night tears help me sleep.

Exhaustion has become my best friend.

I've stopped looking at my phone, expecting the worse.

I surrender myself to suffocating sadness.

Then you call.

I'm coming home.

I thought I was a soldier going for training in invasions,

Now I've been ordered to kill my brother.

I don't want to kill my brother,

But if I don't,

They'll kill my family.

It's just orders,

Or so they say.

Can I be held accountable if my actions don't stem from a conscious decision?

Or am I just as bad as my enemy,

Because I don't want to risk a threat that could cost me everything.

Maybe I am less of a man,

Or maybe I'm a man with a bleeding heart.

I have a wife, a daughter, a son, another daughter,

Is it so horrible that I wish to see them again?

That I'll do whatever I can to make sure they live,

So I can come home to them.

But now I am killing my brother.

What would my mother say?

They aren't my orders,

So are they really my actions?

Truth is harsh.

Maybe it would be easier if it were dipped in vanilla ice cream and wrapped in cotton candy. So sweet.

The ones who have never hidden their ruthlessness being chastised by the ones who hide under a cloak of civility and courtesy.

Remember this: things aren't always as they appear.