They must put something in the water down at the good ol' Independent because it seems as though both Zac and I are running away from home. In a good way.

If you haven't already heard me sprinting up and down the streets of Grand Island yelling, I've been accepted at Northwestern University into the Medill School of Journalism, one of the most prestigious "J" schools in the nation.

Last year, the journalism school only accepted a little under 200 students out of tens of thousands of applicants. Ahem, now I don't mean to brag or anything, cough, but I'd say I'm doing just fine. Yes, Mr. VanderTuig, I am fully aware of how conceited I sound but I'm just so gosh darn excited, give a girl a break.

For all of you who, try as you might, avoid this column like the plague, beware because my writing style will now (hopefully) be plastered all over the media you see every day: Newsweek, the Times, CNN. Just wait. Muahahaha!

While it's certainly no Stanford, it is comparable to an Ivy League, only without all of the Vanderbilts and prissy law students. I like to think of it as a liberal intellectual haven, for bright young minds ready and willing to step out of the box and into the living and breathing, populous city life.

Northwestern is in Evanston, a suburb just a few miles from downtown Chicago, with a population much like Lincoln's. This way, I get the best of both worlds: Midwest friendliness, small-town charm, big-city life and a few hundred miles away from the parents. Just kidding, Mommy and Daddy, I'm really only a plane ride away.

While I began the application process in August, and finally sent the bugger in October, I had to wait close to six long months for a decision. I don't know if I assumed I'd get in or not. I just tried to ignore the nagging feeling I'd get anytime someone would ask what my plans were for next year. I felt dumb saying, "I dunno," but didn't really want to spread the word about Northwestern if I wouldn't end up being accepted.

I didn't work my tail off all the way through high school to become unhappy with my career and so-so about my life. High school was the launch pad for my grand liftoff, or should I say entrance, into the real world.

I'm proud to say I still haven't touched a drink of alcohol. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of my peers. While some say, "You'll drink in college," I really don't think anyone with an ACT score high enough to get into Northwestern would be stupid enough to throw everything away for a headache the following morning. Maybe that's my pretentious side speaking for me.

Somehow, being "on my own" makes me all the less willing to meddle with a substance that could affect the rest of my team my team of journalists and other scholars whom I'll be representing wherever I go.

On a happier note, I will, without a doubt, be in some form of debt for the rest of my God-given life and probably won't be able to eat for a few years. Any donations, IOUs, cashiers checks, savings bonds would be much appreciated. Write it off as charity. Please don't fire me for writing that. But seriously, catch me later, and we can chat about currency affairs. Just kidding, editors.

Who knows where I'll end up after my long trek to the city maybe mugged, or maybe I'll come back as a latte-drinking, black-wearing, hybrid-driving smarty-pants but as for the next few months, you're stuck with reading about whatever it is I opt to give my 2 cents on.

It could be worse. You could be the one having to pay my half-billion-dollar tuition and being able to puff out your chest while talking about your daughter. My parents and I know that it will be worth it. Live with regrets and get paid to go to school, or take a leap and spend all of my parents' retirement money? Some of you are shaking your heads, but the choice was simple.

For now, just be glad I'm not your kid.

Sarah Kuta is a senior at Grand Island Senior High.