70

So this is my 70th blog. I'm sitting in my kitchen with my best friend, Kat, post-Christmas tree decorating, post-hot chocolate consumption, post-Christmas carol singing. I love home when it's like this: late at night when I know everyone is home, but they're more or less alseep. I feel the comfort of their presence and conveniantly avoid conversations.

Not that I don't love them endlessly. I just haven't been home for more than a week in the past year. It's odd to know that I'll only be here for another week, too. Then I get to spend the rest of my break in Massachusetts with Mike. I'm looking forward to it endlessly, but I feel for my family. It'll be my first ever New Year's Eve kiss. It'll be my first ever completely away-from-my-mom New Year's . It'll be my first contact with a Massachusetts winter. It'll be the first time I'm wearing snow clothes when my family isn't. I think it all means that I'm growing up. I hope it does; if it doesn't, then am I being immature and insensitive?

For my 70th blog - an anniversary of nothing except my best friend Peter's birthday (happy 21, again!) - I leave you with questions, instead of answers. Where do you draw the line between connections with family and connections with future? How do I know what I owe to my family and what I owe to myself?