Before beginning today’s dissertation, I’d like to take a minute to welcome you, reader, to “The Complaint Department.” Be warned, however, that unlike traditional establishments, you won’t be complaining to me; I will be complaining to you. I’ll be complaining about things that are stupid, useless and mind numbing, that no one can do anything about. It will be both frustrating and liberating. But, hey, rest easier knowing that you aren’t alone in your mental anguish. So, we begin today: living with your parents.

Having returned home for every break and holiday over the last three years at Cornell, and having spent a majority of my pre-senior year summer in suburban New Jersey, I have come to realize why I am simply too old to be living at home.

I have just recently turned 21, though I have been partaking in the activities my new age legally sanctions since about 14. This coming of age feels liberating, yet constrained and completely artificial. While I can’t complain about coming home each night to home cooked meals and freshly folded laundry, I can safely say that trying to live a college life in your parents’ home is not ideal. Going from months of Cornell independence — be they in a dorm, house or apartment — to the watchful eye of curious and nothing-better-to-do parents, seems like an unnatural act.

Now, I can’t deny that there do come days when heading home for a weekend or break seems like salvation; problem is, it usually takes no more than 12 hours to remember why you needed out in the first place. Between the questions, the rules and the sheer ridiculousness that parents feel necessary to inflict on their spawn, living with your parents is no easy feat.

When will you be home? Who’s going? Are there parents home?

I don’t know, my friends, and are they ever at Johnny O’s?

What’s wrong? Why are you so lazy? And are you doing drugs?

Nothing, you do it all for me, and please just shut up.

Such questions are only mildly tolerable for the first few days back home. There inevitably comes a breaking point, an argument and a viciously repeating cycle.

There are also rules. Some of us have chores, while, perhaps worse, others are responsible for calling home to check in and must still be home by a certain hour. Who doesn’t enjoy 3 a.m. “where are you?” calls from weary sleeping mothers? Or hiding recreational activities that have become the norm at all other points in the year? Obeying other people’s rules is just another one of those unpleasant side effects of hanging out back home.

Another fun thing about living with your parents is getting scolded for things you do regularly when they aren’t around. There apparently is no North Jersey equivalent for drinking CTB sangria at noon. Coming home trashed — or not coming home at all — from a hometown friend’s basement is somehow much more trouble than its worth, at least compared to stumbling into your own Collegetown apartment. It is also inexcusable and beyond comprehension to make use of as much communication technology as we do, simultaneously, everyday, everywhere and all of the time.

Now, this isn’t to say that I am not appreciative of all my parents do for me — that would be simply ungrateful. It’s not even to say that I don’t enjoy their presence, because I definitely do. I appreciate their guidance and care, and everyday find their unconditional love despite all things ridiculous to be quite miraculous. Consider your stints at home throughout college to be a learning process, for both you and your parents. Over time, you’ll wear them thin, I swear.

Since we can only hope to find a place to go as soon as possible post-graduation, it’s probably wise to attempt to hold on to your sanity despite your parents’ rules and regulations; that means you, freshmen. After all, going home now and then can be wonderfully refreshing. As an added bonus, it happens to provide prime material for the Complaint Department.