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No more preparing for tournaments now that the US Open is over.
No more caring about turning down that delicious plate of food covered with lots of melted mozzarella.
No more having to cut short a night with the missus due to early morning practice.
No more slogging through triple digit temperatures just to get acclimated to match-time conditions.
No more dealing with summer in the middle of winter, as what would happen regarding those Australian Januaries.
No more frustrated cracks of the racquet after another service game gets broken due to unnecessary cautiousness.
No more fans furiously screaming his name, though he admits to already feeling nostaglic upon hearing his own name being chanted as another player won the US Open.
No more of regularly seeing friends he's known for most of his life, not without trying to fit it into schedules involving kids' band practices and charity functions.
No more having to deal with increasingly painful losses, those which were now inflicting as much physical pain as emotional pain.
No more missing parents' anniversaries and birthdays for young relatives you've barely met.
No more missing home.