I was having an crypto-erotic pillow fight with my roommate last week when I realized what this whole crazy college thingy is about. Home. Now, you may be asking, "But, Feathers, I'm not at home! I'm away from it!" But you see, with friendships and all, college is kind of like home! Doesn't that freak you out a little? But it's true! With that in mind, I will now devote the rest of my article to a swift rebuttal of this opening paragraph.

Home. What is home? For most of my nondysfunctional readers, home is a place with cookies. Yeah, that's the ticket. Cookies. Home is the place with closets where you could hide from your father when he was in a drunken rage. Just kidding. Thought I'd see how the other half lives for a moment. And isn't that what the holidays is all about? My name is Luka, I live on the second floor.

Home is the place that loves you unconditionally, unlike Bobby Bradford (that lying shit). Home is a place that accepts you and feeds you, not caring that you're an unemployable philosophy major.

Home is past, home is present, home is future. Home is tomato sauce, simmering on the stove. And a tasty salt lick. Yum yum, salt lick. Home didn't get mad when I became someone else somewhere else. It didn't slap me and order me to "come back here now, bitch" (again, unlike Bobby Bradford). Home knew that I couldn't be home forever and that I could never go home again because I found a new home different from the old home that I used to call home. In my short time here, I have another home, but it still won't take the place of my first home, because there is no tomato sauce and no salt lick. Yum yum, salt lick. Maybe home isn't the first home, the second home or any other homes to come. No, home is where I am because I will always love and accept me. Home is a part of me because it in fact is me. No matter how hard I try, I can never leave home because I, in fact, am the home. Goo goo goo joob. So long as home misses me and I miss home and home wants me and I want to go home and there is tomato sauce, cookies and salt lick, I will be home. Do you believe this crap about finals? On Christmas, no less! There, now I'm at the end of the page.