So, here I am.

I’ll warn you in advance that this entry is going to be all over the place. Perhaps before you wallow in any more of my pathos you should look at these funny pictures of drunk people.

I’ve spent the past couple days unpacking and setting things up. Unpacking is so much more pleasant than packing. That whole process of making a house a home appeals even to me. I’m in love with my new bedroom, and it’s probably the largest room I’ve ever had. Later this afternoon I’m going to brave IKEA—and, by extension, Saturday Mall Of America traffic—so I can purchase a desk, which will be my room’s piece de resistance (a French term meaning “cheap but stylish furniture”), and at which I will write my Masterpiece. If my writing sucks I’m suing IKEA.

Speaking of my writing, I’m already having a slew of apprehensions about starting the Program (that’s what people call it, and their tone of voice implies a capital P). I already worry that everyone is going to be smarter and better-read than I am. I worry that my slacker tendencies from college will make an unwelcome reappearance. I worry that the Internet has poisoned my attention span and I will no longer be able to read an entire book. I worry that a three-year period of writer’s block will descend for exactly the duration of the Program.

Everyone out there in grad school, please assure me these are all perfectly normal concerns.

My first impressions of Minneapolis: In general, I’m bowled over by how easy everything is. Driving is not the nightmarish aneurysm that it was in Chicago; there are several bars and wifi coffeeshops within walking distance, and the city, or at least my neighborhood, seems immeasurably clean.

Here are a few observations I’ve made about Minneapolis so far, apropos of nothing:

1. Upon their arrival in the Twin Cities, every resident is issued a lake and a Target Superstore. If a Target is not to your liking, you may have a Cub Foods.

2. All the black people must be hiding somewhere. In Chicago, you can walk into any restaurant or store and at least one of the employees and several of the customers will be black or Latino. Today at Target every person I saw was white, and quite often blond.

3. You’re not a real Twin Cities suburb until you have your own water tower with your town’s name on the side in huge letters.

4. The grocery stores here don’t sell beer. For that, you have to go to something called a “liquor store.” What’s more, these “stores” stop selling alcohol at eight p.m. I knew this already, and I moved here anyway.

5. They have things here called “lawns” and “trees.” This will take some getting used to, but I think I’m going to like it.

6. The sky is crystal clear and relatively devoid of skyscrapers. I swear I can almost see to Canada when I’m on the highway.

7. I’m lonley.

I have a few friends here I’m looking forward to seeing, and my new roommate definitely seems like a cool person to hang out with. But for the most part I’m wondering why exactly I left some of the most important people in my life behind in Chicago. If humans are social creatures, why do we deliberately and repeatedly cast ourselves so far from the people we love?

Because that’s the only way we grow, I suppose.

What a rip-off.