When my parents first built our house I hated it. I was at a point of transition in my life, and generally miserable all of the time. I was graduating high school, my friends were leaving for college, I was leaving for college and my parents were selling the house I had called home for all 18 years of my life. I knew that everything was changing and would never be the same ever again and I was rebelling with every fiber of my being. I screamed and cried and sulked. I got angry and didn't talk to my family and friends for days at a time. I proclaimed that I would never live in the thing that my parents were building and I definitely would never call it home.

Yet they built it, making sure to include a room for me complete with curtains of my choice, and over the past ten years that new house has become my home. It is not just a place that I crash at when I'm passing through or on the holidays, but a place that I long and yearn for.

Since the beginning of this year, however, that's slowly started to change. Home no longer is a palce to go for a homecooked meal, a round of train dominoes, and a good late night chuckle over a can of beer. Home no longer means every seat at the table is filled. Home means that my mother sleeps alone in a bedroom with a an half empty closet, and that my sister's room echos with the ghosts of her memories. Home means that I sit alone late at night with a rapidly warming beer.

I want my old home back. I want the security and feeling of luck that comes from a stable two parent home. I want back the blissfully unaware ignorance that comes with thinking everything is ok. I want back the idea that sure, we might not have a lot of money, but damnit we had each other and thats a hell of a lot more than some people. I want to stop pretending that this is ok, that we'll be ok, that everything is the same even when nothing is. I want my sisters sleeping in the basement and my parents snoring above me.

So I say, f*ck you change. Get the f*ck out of my life.