Dear Mental Diary:

So my parents forced me to move to South Dakota.

It's not so much as the where I had to move, but that I had to move. Period. I liked living in California. It had everything I wanted: sun, beach, perfect weather.

Now all I see are the Great Plains.

Not only that, but into a neighborhood inhabited mostly by Native Americans. Not that there is anything wrong with that but...it's...very...awkward. Look, when you are the only teen on the block with Middle Eastern distinctions, you feel out of place. Don't roll your eyes at me; you would feel the same way if you were the only Jewish girl in the entire neighborhood. As much as I love the Sioux culture, I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. It feels WEIRD, believe me.

Look, I'm not being all holier-than-thou, alright? But imagine with me; your parents want to start a cultural museum in the little known town of Ehani, they force you to give up your entire life in order to submit to their work. I mean, yeah, I'll admit; I enjoy reading about different cultures just as much as my parents; actually, I think I like spending half of my time in my room reading more then they do. But moving to a place with absolutely no relatives, friends, or anything else that's familiar...

I think I'll stick to my books.

And just when I thought nothing could get worse...I wake up in front of a stampeding herd of buffalo. And I run faster then I've ever ran before...

And then I realize that I'm not in South Dakota anymore. Or at least, modern Dakota. I especially realized that when whooping Indians were after me. And when a half naked dude saved my life. And when we were jumping from buffalo to buffalo when his horse went down...

Todo, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...