Captain’s Log, Star Date Tuesday, Nov. 25; 2:00 p.m.:
As my last class concludes, I begin the great migration from St. Peter, Minnesota, to Elmhurst, Illinois, a lonely outpost of the greater Chicago land Star System. The occasion: the Festival of Giving Thanks. The distance: seven hours by automobile (although if a parental unit is driving, local speed limits will be observed and increase the travel time). The route: primarily I-90/94. My journey today will be long and perilous; I pack a Sprite and Nerds on a Rope for sustenance.

Captain’s Log, 2:45 p.m.:
I pass Loon Lake in Waseca and once more am bitterly disappointed by the lack of loons. In all four years of traveling this road, I have never once seen a loon on Loon Lake. I briefly consider filing a complaint with the city, stating grievances of “False Advertising” and “Getting Maggie’s Hopes Up.”

Captain’s Log, 3:30 p.m.:
As I near Rochester, MN, I officially count my twentieth pro-life billboard. I am shocked to learn, from an enlarged photograph of an exuberant, laughing baby, that humans possess fingerprints seventeen days after conception. Thank God my informed decision-making is based on disturbingly magnified pictures of something with no control over its bowel movements.

Captain’s Log, 4:45 p.m.:
This is the fifth deer I have seen strapped to the back of a truck in the last ten minutes. I must be nearing Wisconsin.

Captain’s Log, 5:00 p.m.:
Indeed, my vehicle crosses the state line. I report my location to the Mother Ship. She is thrilled I am doing well, but tells me I must be driving too fast if I am already out of Minnesota, and I need to slow down, Margaret, do I want to be in an accident?

I pick up dinner in Lacrosse. Although the sandwiches at Panera are my first choice, I will be on the road whilst eating. Therefore, it is McDonald’s easy-to-handle-while-driving burgers that receive my business. I know its workers receive terrible and unequal wages, that its animals are poked in the eyes with sticks and called mean names, or something equally inhumane. I feel slightly guilty for patronizing the industry, so I wash it all down with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. After all, if I am going to be socially unjust, why half-ass it?

Captain’s Log, 7:00 p.m.:
The boredom of highway driving begins to set in.  The radio is out (meaning it has picked up nothing but country and Christian rock for the last hour). I have already used up my Ira Glass’ This American Life and Radio Lab reserves. I now turn to the galaxy’s most reliable Road Trip companion: Harry Potter on tape. A few minutes of this anthology will have the most apathetic driver gripped with emotion, yelling into an empty vehicle, “No, Harry, DON’T go into the third floor corridor!” “No, Umbridge, DON’T punish Harry with the Cruciatus Curse!” or “No, J.K. Rowling, DON’T write such a vague and abstract Epilogue!” My spirit is rekindled, and the expedition home continues.

Captain’s Log, 7:30 p.m.:

I enter Illinois and pay my first toll. I will pay three more in the next hour and a half.  I report in again to the Mother Ship and brief her on my coordinates. The Matriarch reminds me I must be speeding like a bat out of hell if I’m already in Illinois and to slow down, for Christ’s sake.

Captain’s Log, 8:00 p.m.:
Harry Potter on tape concludes, and with no other forms of entertainment in the car, I am forced to sit and hear myself think. I find myself going mad from the silence, and desperately dig about in the backseat for something to listen to. I find N*SYNC’s first CD from fifth grade.  After a few tracks, I turn it off and return to the silence.

Captain’s Log, 9:00 p.m.:
My vehicle arrives at the Mother Ship. It is littered with McDonald’s, Harry Potter tapes, pre-moistened towlettes, and it reeks of my body odor. As I walk in the door, seven hours after I began my tri-state voyage, I am barraged by hugs and chidings of how I got home so soon, how fast I must have been going, I am probably a reckless lead foot on the road and a hazard to my own health, I’m going to give my parents heart attacks, do I want to put my mother in an early grave after all she’s done for this family, get inside they’ve missed me.