I really hate to say it, but I'm starting to get sick of living at home.  I love my parents and all, but It just doesn't feel so great anymore.  I really want my freedom.  Often-times when I'm home with them now I just wish they weren't.  It makes me feel bad, because of everything they've done for me all, and how much they'll miss me when I'm gone.  I was thinking about that recently, how different it's going to be for them when I'm gone.  When Justine left it wasn't as big a deal, since I was still here, but, now, with both of us gone, things'll be completely different.  They'll only be cooking for themselves and doing all the yardwork, etc.  More than that, though, the whole atmosphere will be different.  No longer will there be someone here when they get hom e at night.  No longer will there be someone to greet them when they come home from a trip or something.  They'll be all alone.  Of course, I'm sure they'll enjoy it, to an extent, but I can't help thinking how much they'll miss me. I know it's a little egotistical, but there it is.  That's how I see it. I just think the house will feel "empty".  They'll pass by my room any nothing will be out of place.  Everything will be nice and tidy, a lot of stuff will be gone.  There won't be anyone to tell to "tidy up" or whatever.  It'll seem hollow, out of place.  After 23 years of having children in the house, rasing them, watching them grow from children...into adults, and to watch them leave. I can't help but wonder how sad they'll be to send me off.  It's not just a new chapter of my life, but also of thier's, not just the ending of my most major circle, but there's also.  No longer will they "parents" per se.  They'll still be parents, of course, but, it'll be different.  They won't have kids running around, or teenagers getting into mischief, or whatever.  Everything for them is going to chage, just as it will for me.  It's selfish of me to go anway and not see this, that they'll just be the same old mom and dad.  While my journey begins, there's will end. I'll leave my port and they'll return, but to a new one.  They won't come back to the wharf they left when Justine was born. They're older, more experience, less naive and blind.  Life will not just revert back to their being two newlyweds.  Even when I come home for summer and winter break, and whenever else, it won't be the same place, this house.  Now, it is all home.  Six months from now, it won't be so much, a year, even less. Two years from home home will probably be split between collage and here.  Four years from now, once I graduate, this will no longer be home anymore.  This house will cease to be my home. It will become a piece of the past, a prominent piece, a piece where I spent the entire latter half of my childhood and adolesence, but still just a piece.  The enti er world will be out there, new opportunites will abound, and, while this house might seem like a comforting anchor, it will never equal what will be out there.  Everything must change. That is a scientific change, the tendency of order to become chaos-The first or second Law of Thermodynamics.  Thus, it is the future my eyes turn to, more and more every day.  For me, this happens now, the gut-wrenching wait as I anxiously peer into the future From some, this happened the day after, or even during, high school graduation.  They left home, going straight to a university.  Those people like Cynon and Amy and April and Nish, they're on their own out in the world now, with only a string attached to their parents, to their past.  With every day, that string weakens, until it will one day become a thread.  That thread, however slender, will for most never be broken. That thread is love, and it will always be there for me, and for nearly all. Sad is the creature that is loved by none.  Sad is the man, the woman, that lo ses that string, that breaks that string-sad indeed is the creature who's string is cut-for then that creature is anchorless is this world.  Love binds us together, creating ties that not even death shall sever, not even death can destroy.  It is love that makes the world go round, every ounce.

I just went back to look at some of my past entries. An entry in December alluded to the Manhattan scholarship, and I realized that it wasn't a misdated entry.  I got my facts mixed up in my letter to Amy.  I don't think I told her about it yet, though, so maybe she won't know.  I don't think she'll write again for a while, she usually takes a while.  Besides, I asked her to write me from Alaska during break, since I told her I've never gotten a letter from Alaska and thus asked her if she would write me while she was up there.  I don't know if she will or not, but I'm farely sure she won't write until at least then.