Drunk Dialing

My little sister called me last night, but the phone was promptly stolen away from her by a male who would later be identified as my step-brother. It quickly became apparent that everyone was drunk--my sister, my step-sister, my step-brother, my step-cousin, my step-sister's boyfriend, their friends. And after I got off the phone with them, it dawned on me--that revelation of all revelations, that one that should have seemed obvious all along: life really does just continue as normal when we leave. *GASP*

Isn't this ridiculous? I feel like the two-year-old who doesn't want to take a nap because he's afraid he'll miss something. I miss home not so much because there is something inherently good about it, but rather because I can't be there to supervise what is happening, to see my brother grow up, to make sure my sister doesn't do anything overly stupid while drunk, to clean up after everyone so my mom doesn't get stuck doing it. I'm such a control freak. Ugh.

(I'll spare you, my invisible audience, the rationalization for my feelings of control freakishness (what a fun term) toward home because it's just ranting about how my family shouldn't be trusted or left to their own motivations.)