Dread.

I've dreaded documenting my "transition" (or as I like to call it, upheaval) from the moment I set foot on Wisconsin turf. But after reading "Running With Scissors" I found that sticky situations can make excellent reads. So here goes...

My first day of school was faced with far too much optimism, even for an optimistic girl. I had put on glasses so tinted that they had ceased to be rose-colored and had begun to obscure my vision. I had spent the entire summer convincing myself that moving to Wisconsin would be the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Repeat after me: You WILL like Wisconsin. Repeat twice a day until the first day of school comes. Swallow with Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'."

-

I walked downstairs to recover that sinking feeling I get whenever I see the piles of empty boxes. Boxes, filled with Hemingway to "How to Raise Your Child from Birth to Five" swell and multiply like cancerous tumors. I ambled across the living room with the idea that my headphones were in my backpack; headphones needed to silence a quiet chorus of "Say whaaa?" 's being repeated in my head. I wondered if I would leave Virginia triumphant or with my tail between my legs. Collecting a pair of headphones, not of my own possession, I headed back upstairs before the thought that there was an unnamed person in the house could take my mind and run with it. Back upstairs, I realized that what I had picked up was not a pair of headphones, but a strange headpiece of sorts. I realized that I did not need music to sing me to sleep. Knowing that ignorance is bliss, I turn on my phone to face the tribunal. Nothing. I feel empty and plan to go back downstairs and find a pair of headphones as the screen on the phone turns off. I stare at its blank face and think "Give me truth."

-

I had created a fantastic outfit the night before; it was my armor, so to speak. An embroidered skirt paired with a red studded belt, a white tank top and red Vans. My mother made her suggestion under veils of fitting in. The outfit was no more.

The halls were bustling, the awful artificial school light shining, and I was smiling. Smiling with the promise of new friends and a second chance at anything I had ever wanted.

Wisconsin was all I had ever wanted: everyone was friendly, I was positive that half of the population were descended from hippies, the drama club put on five shows a year and people knew who Chris McCandless was.