This summer, I spent three months under my parents' roof once again, nannying and finding ways to relax and amuse myself.
After a truly disturbing number of final papers, portfolios and presentations, I was beyond ready to go back to my lovely home in Clarendon Hills, Ill.
No fancy internship for me, I was far too burnt out from a particularly grueling end to the semester. I had pulled 12 too many all-nighters, and very much wanted a break in every sense of the word.
My plan was to first and foremost sleep, then enjoy the comforts of home.
I was so excited to finally have free rein of my neighborhood gym, rather than waiting for a treadmill in Lilly. Instead of attempting to engage my classmates with PowerPoint slides, I was engaging in rummy and poker tournaments with my family and friends.
I got to spend several glorious days lakeside, boating and on the beach. Gone were the worries of deadlines and meetings. I was free to do what I pleased. I read for enjoyment instead of necessity, and rekindled my passion for photography that's unrelated to any sort of Media Fellows project.
I couldn't wait to trade Hub food for my dad's cooking, and with so many stores at my fingertips, I finally converted from my old broken slider to the iPhone. I donated my hair to Locks of Love, and had to fight off a few dementors as I said goodbye to my childhood in 3D.
All in all, it was a great summer. I had a lot of fun and successfully unwound like I wanted to. Yet the entire time, something was missing. Sure, my mom makes great scrambled eggs, but nothing beats Sunday morning breakfast bar with my friends, still in PJs and recalling the adventures of the night before. And as much as I love my gym, I wanted to run in the Nature Park, overlooking the scenic quarry the whole time.
I can't quite put it into words, but DePauw has some sort of strange magical power that always makes my heart ache to come back. No matter how badly I overextend myself during the year, and no matter how much I love my home and family, I find myself missing DePauwty so much that I even use stupid made-up words like DePauwty. I could leave Greencastle itching to go home and sleep in my own bed, but no matter what, within a short time, I'll wish I was back.
So next time you're throwing back Five Hour Energy in Roy O, three sentences into an article and hating the smell of highlighter, just try to remember how special this place really is. Even when I'm the only person in Julian at 3 a.m. and the floor under my table needs to be vacuumed immediately, it'll still feel like home. And it's good to be home.
—Bremer is a junior from Clarendon Hills, Ill., majoring in communications. opinion@thedepauw.com